Delhi street scenes

I remembered why I was here and grabbed my camera, heading out for lanes unknown. There are many meandering lanes in this part of Delhi, too narrow for a car, and the advantage of a busy place is that there are lots of people to take photos of. Everyone was very kind, to a person, and most everyone consented to have their picture taken. I always ask if it's OK, and the kind of photos I take wouldn't be very fun if I was trying to be sneaky. I used to take those kind of pics back in the day, but they just aren't the same.

I starting watching a group, mostly kids, playing some game on the street with marbles. Sort of a poor man's golf. The gregarious older guy in the group, Rajinder, grabbed me and I ended up a happy competitor. The small crowd erupted when I did something right. Rajinder then dragged me off to see his multi-story, rabbit-warren of a house, more like a small compound. I met about 20 of his relatives and we had chai. Delightful.

Do me a favor and don't look at the small versions of the photos below. There are more photos here, which will open in slideshow mode.

Love,
Dave
























(The End)

Another India adventure begins

Many people reading this have no idea that I'm off on another India adventure. It was originally planned as a two and a half month trip, but was extended after the Exploratorium, my employer, started looking for ways to balance the budget. I'm one of the few people there that would enjoy an unpaid leave.

My flights were from San Francisco to New York, then to Paris, then to Delhi. I slept probably half of the entire 19 hours of flight time and didn't read a page of either of the two books I brought. The flights were comfortable and uneventful, though I came close to missing the Paris flight. By the time I got to Delhi, 28 hours after leaving home, I was bleary-eyed and bracing myself for the chaos that inevitably follows landing here. I did all the right things - bought a voucher for the prepaid taxi, got money from the second ATM because the first one was broken, and got into a junker of a minivan that passes for a taxi. The driver, Manoj, was young, dishevelled and slightly manic, about par for the course. There was more stimulation in the 15 minutes of getting out of the parking area onto the "highway" than there'd been in the last day of travel.

I noticed that the van was sputtering a lot, and Manoj didn't seem to be able to go more than about 20 miles an hour. It's about an hour's drive in a car that runs - it made me wonder. Only about a quarter of a mile from the airport the van sputtered and coughed and almost died. I said, "Manoj, are we're going to make it the hotel in this car?" His response was a surprising, "Yes, sir. No problem!" If there's any confusion, that's a total non-answer, because that's the default response whether everything is going great or is about to collapse. (Guess where this is going?)

The van died a minute later, and after trying to start it a couple of times, Manoj got out of the car and started pushing it. "Uh, Manoj? What are you doing?" Manoj says, "Patt roll! Patt roll!" What the heck? Oh, petrol! He was trying to push the van, with my fat ass in the back seat, up this very slight hill, to the nearby gas station. I assume he's out of gas, and maybe it's a quick fix. He gave up pushing and got a little Pepsi bottle out of the trunk, and said, "Patt roll!" and ran off to the gas station. So I'm sitting in the back of this car, alone since Manoj took off, the car is blocking a lane on this busy road, it's almost 2 a.m., and I've been traveling for the last 29 hours. It could have happened anywhere, I suppose. Maybe not.

Eventually Manoj returned with his microtank of gas and sets to repairing the car, using only a greasy rag and wily determination. It seems the van wasn't out of gas, but I was. I told Manoj I was going back to the airport to get another taxi. A man showed up out of the blue and offered to take me to the hotel. He could have been a serial killer, but he turned out to be just a taxi driver, and he did give me a ride, and I was glad for it.

I've been here a few hours now, but it seems like a week. I ordered some prescription glasses, including prescription Ray Ban's. I'm hoping for the best. In two days I'm flying to Varanasi and attending the 10-day meditation-ish event in Sarnath, which I'm a big fan of.

More stories are sure to follow.

Much love,
Dave

p.s. If you're reading this on the blog and would like these newsletters delivered to your inbox, send a blank e-mail to daveadair+subscribe@googlegroups.com.

A story about Dad

I apologize for not writing for so long. For all I know some of you appreciate the peace and quiet. It's been three months and 12 days since my Mom died, and we still haven't gotten around to setting a date for a memorial service. I don't think that was all that kind, considering the memorial's not just for us, but for all the people who loved and cared for Patio. I find myself thinking about Mom most days, and I still have the impulse to call her when something's going on that I want to share. Today I have the impulse to call Mom, but I'm almost glad that she's not here to take the call.

My brother Mike and I went to Arizona last weekend to visit our dad. Mike had seen Bud about six months ago, but I'd canceled that trip at the last minute because Mom wasn't doing well, and ended up taking her to the hospital that same weekend. So it was a year since I'd seen my Dad. He was getting some kind of dementia, likely Alzheimer's, and it was noticeably worse since I saw him last. Mike and I spent two exhausting days trying to get his bills and finances in order, but we still had time for some good meals and we enjoyed the time together. The best part of the trip, no doubt, was a drive into a nature reserve around dusk, where we meandered on unpaved roads and managed to not get lost. Bud was in great spirits on that drive, and loved being out in nature - especially when viewed out of the window of a pickup truck.

We were frustrated that Bud refused any kind of help from anyone but us, even though he so clearly needed it. The night before we left he agreed to let our cousin Julie help with his bills and medications, and we thought we'd turned a corner. Today, though, Julie called to say that Dad wasn't answering his phone or his door, and his truck was parked in the garage - so he didn't seem to be gone anywhere. Fearing the worst and hoping it was just an overactive imagination, Julie and her husband Rocky went over to the house, found an open window, and climbed in to find Dad passed away in his bed, apparently from natural causes.

Our Dad was a cantankerous old coot. But he was also one of the smartest people I know, and could be downright charming when he wanted to be. And Mike and I never questioned whether he had our best interest at heart. I remember when Dad and I were tuning up a car when I was in high school, when you had to hold the timing light near the spinning fan belt. He said, "Let me do that. It'd be better for me to lose a finger than for you." I wished he'd been able to enjoy himself more than he did, but part of his "charm" was that he lived by his own rules, and he wasn't all that interested in what anyone else thought about it. Just three weeks ago he came to a red light. After the cars had gone and no one else was coming, he slowly drove on his way, through the red light, until a policeman pulled him over and gave him a ticket. We can't blame that one on Alzheimer's, because he'd been doing that for many years. He'd plug in an electric skillet and place it in the freezer to speed up the defrosting, and he'd stick a hot dog in one side of the toaster and bread in the other - before they sold them that way. When our dog Tigre got old, he took him out into the foothills of Mt. Diablo and shot him in the head. And he LOVED that dog. He was his own man, for sure.

I always figured it would be relatively easy when Dad died. But since Mom died, I just recently realized that I'm not ready for my Dad to be gone, too. Not yet. But I didn't get a vote, apparently, and it happened as it did. This too isn't just about me. Bud made it crystal clear that he wouldn't ever live in a retirement home, and hated the thought of being incapacitated, as he would have been with his disease. So he went out on his own terms, and I hope he's in a better place.

Much love,
Dave

2007

2007

Maybe 1960-ish?

Mike and Dave's last weekend with Dad, 10/11/08

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