Qatar: Rhymes with "Butter"

I'm not even sure where to start on this one, other than to say I think Matt may have been right when he claimed, "The Doha trip in the middle of your Mumbai trip is a little aggressive."  

Months and months and months ago, it seems, a new project located in Doha, Qatar, was mentioned and I was asked if I'd want to be a part of that project team.  "Oh, sure!  I dig this international stuff."  And I really do, even when I don't, which is how I'd describe my time in Qatar.  Loved the experience and exposure to a new world but I'm pretty pumped to head back to Mumbai tonight.  These are starkly different places, Mumbai and Doha, and I'll attempt to outline some of those variances in order to depict life from the last week.

I land Saturday night (following the morning meltdown, which was instigated in part by having to get on a plane AGAIN), I go through immigration, and I am greeted by the hotel chauffeur.  The doors outside whisk open and within seconds I start cataloging all the ways in which my new environment is vastly different than the one I just left.  Burning trash smoke is replaced by plumes of cigarette smoke.  We go to the car and it's a BMW 7 series, which is evidently the fanciest of them all.  (I am not fancy enough to know that without someone pointing it out to me.)  This is a far cry from the rickety 1940-issue Fiats in Mumbai that I bop around in.  We also have slight difficulty getting out of the parking garage because all the other cars are ENORMOUS and the spots were not sized as needed.  Later on in the trip I actually took a picture of all the leg room in the car because it was so gratuitous I couldn't help but gawk.

The drive into the city center is short and full of things to see.  A young skyline covered in LEDs catches your eye in no time.   Is this Vegas or Doha?

Architecturally speaking, this place has pulled out every trick in the book.  I guess you can do that when money is no object!

 Note that all my pictures are taken from the backseat of the car.  This is symptomatic of a city where few people walk and the street life subsequently resembles a Sunday morning in Buffalo, NY, at all times.  In other words, Doha looked like a ghost town to my Mumbai-trained eyes.  What else is different?

MUMBAI	DOHA
Loud, manually operated	Quiet, automated
Chaotic traffic and slow going	Orderly traffic but lots of speed
Crumbling buildings	Shiny, tricked-out buildings
Feels like an ant farm	Feels like an enormous corporate office park
Lost City	SIM City
Everyone touches you because there’s no room	No one touches you because that’s the culture
Small black cars make you nimble in traffic	Huge white SUVs make you command the traffic

I haven't blogged real-time about Doha for two reasons.  The first, and most important, was to keep my mom sane by not telling her where I was going. Therefore I couldn't tell the internet about it!  The second was that while I have valued my time here and the opportunity to work in a new foreign hospital, that is about all I have done: work.  This is not because the project leader is a slave driver but rather you don't just happen upon stuff to do or things to see here like you might in other locales.  And, as a woman in a fairly conservative country, being experimental hasn't been a natural inclination.  Therefore, my remaining posts on Doha will be somewhat sparse but hopefully no less intriguing.

I'm off to find dinner before cruising back down to Mumbai, where the city is overcome with cricket mania, just blocks from the hotel!  Yay, people on the streets!

India: A somewhat typical Saturday morning

Saturday started out rough and I'm not too proud to admit why.  I had a "week five meltdown"...four days into my travels.

A "week five meltdown" is just shy of a validated medical diagnosis in our house.  Why the "week five" designation?  Because on each of my long trips last winter and spring, this little sobfest occurred precisely five weeks into each stay.  Contributing factors include exhaustion, work deadlines, a weekend morning with nowhere to be, and good-natured but unsolicited commentary that I "should really spend more time with Matt."  

Despite the marvel of being in a foreign country - and knowing full well that this is an experience to be appreciated - life on the road takes its toll.  It sneaks up on you and suddenly you are overwhelmed by it all.  Homesickness isn't even the right way to describe it.  Instead, it's uncertainty, it's doubt, it's loneliness, it's vulnerability, it's defeat.  The next thing you know, you're crying while running.  Again.

After a reassuring call with Matt, I picked myself up and headed down for breakfast before going over to the office for a few hours.  My elevator ride introduced me to a Russian man who asked if I did a 10k that morning.  Huh?  I wasn't in my running clothes.  

"I've seen you come in the last few mornings.  You run a lot, yeah?  And you know all the hotel staff and they know you.  You must be here a lot, yeah?"

Yeah.  And you're not the first to come to this conclusion.

Next I'm in a taxi with a particularly chatty driver.  We go back and forth about me being from America and how many times I've been over to India.  After some time he must have decided we were close enough friends for him to provide marriage advice. 

"You married?  Where is your husband?  Oh, he's not at the hotel.  That is bad.  You should see him."

Seriously.  

All this AFTER I had already cried out tears of guilt.  

It would be easy to start feeling really sorry for oneself under such conditions and I was quickly headed in that direction.  But even through the snot and sobs, I knew enough to know that this, too, shall pass.  And by that I mean not only the meltdown but the India experience entirely.  The taxi stopped to let me out and I consciously watched all that was happening, taking comfort in the simplicity of certain things against the backdrop of an otherwise emotionally-complex morning.

Coke bottles were arriving in crates.

 Diwali lanterns fluttered gently in the breeze, providing something soft against all the other hard surfaces.

A cow rooted through last night's leftovers.

And a pack of men and boys rode in the back of a truck, watching me as I watched them.

So, to prevent this from being nothing but sad trombones, I'll finish up by saying I got some time in by the pool later that afternoon and a mega hit of vitamin D, thanks to the Mumbai sun, certainly lifted my spirits. If there's one thing I've learned through an intense amount of business travel, it's that there will always be emotional tension.  Appreciating the uniqueness of life outside without letting it come at the expense of appreciating life back home can be tough, but thankfully I have random strangers reminding me of how the priorities ultimately stack up.  Who knew Matt had so many fans in India?   

India: Diwali

After five trips in a little under two years, it was about time that I finally experience Diwali in India.

The sights and sounds of arguably India's biggest festival hit me - almost literally - as soon as I got out of the airport and was traveling to the hotel.  Fireworks were going off everywhere.  You would have thought that the entire city turned into nothing but 8 year old boys on Tuesday evening, given the elaborate and chaotic pyrotechnic displays.  But because it was literally amateur hour, one such rocket careened right past my car.  Welcome back to lawless Mumbai!

The fireworks and revelry continued on late into the night and I was treated to several finales outside my hotel room window.  Marine Drive is lively at any point in the year but it really kicks it up a notch during festivals.  This would have been terribly romantic and fun to watch had it not been for the facts that a) I'm alone and b) I was trying to get into some decent sleeping rhythm.  Fireworks fail.

The next day was my first day back in the office.  As I reached the top of the stairs, one of the office boys was starting an elaborate sand art design on the floor. 

Somewhere midway through, however, it changed from being a Hindu god to a flower.  Delightful, nonetheless.  The office itself was decorated, too, in anticipation of the office Diwali party happening later that evening.

I was forewarned that all partygoers were requested to dress in traditional Indian attire and saris fit that bill.  As much as I love my sari (seriously, it's quite comfortable) there was no way I was squeezing in one more piece of clothing in my baggage, especially given my self-imposed carry-on only approach.  

My packing efficiency was not appreciated.  By noon, my office mates were already thinking of shops to try out in search of more appropriate party-wear for me.  By four o'clock, we were in a taxi and an hour after that, I had expanded my Indian wardrobe to now include a salwar kameez.  Lest you think this was a fast purchase, I must have tried on at least six or seven different outfits, each with random pom-pom trim, rich embroidery, sheer sleeves, you name it.  It kind of felt like I was a dress-up doll for my coworkers; Malibu Barbie gets replaced by Mumbai Barbie.

Anyway, let's get to the party.  Things kick off around 7 pm.  Mind you, I am working off of 3 hours of sleep (thank you, fireworks) and am utterly exhausted.  We hike our way up to the ninth floor of a nearby hotel where there is a new-to-me roof deck. The views were simply spectacular: the Taj Hotel dome was in one corner, the sea in another, and the skyline of south Mumbai was front and center.  I don't say this often but it was breathtaking.

The party starts out like any standard office party, with people behaving all civilized and such, boys on one side, girls on the other. 

Someone decided enough was enough, however, and in short order chairs were being arranged for a drinking game.  Apparently having everyone sit classroom-style while they chug beers makes it easier for the referee to catch cheaters. 

Ahhh! Victory!

Several rounds of the same ensue until yet another person decides this is not bringing the requisite party atmosphere.  Solution?  Bollywood dance music, naturally!

Notice that I am not in any of these photos.  Instead, I am off to the side, exhibiting the finest jet-lagged face I possess:

But fear not.  My sympathetic office mates sure know how to take advantage of me when I'm down.  I was out on the dance floor and even managed to get some wrist-twisting, hip-slinging, floor-pounding moves in, thanks to a couple of enthusiastic instructors.  Under normal circumstances I avoid dancing at all costs.  And I don't know if it was the perfect mix of no sleep and several beers, but dancing on a rooftop in Mumbai will always be one of my favorite memories.

India: Tomorrow Day After

We meet again, friends.  It’s good to be here, even if I had a semi-significant amount of anxiety leading up to this point.  More to come on that.

I’m hurtling past the “flyover states” on my way to Newark airport in order to catch the epic 16 hour odyssey that is flight UA48, EWR-BOM.  I’m also hurtling toward a project deadline and a project kick-off.  The next three weeks are going to be busy, to say the least.

But before we get back into India let’s talk about India being in the US.  The last three weeks were busy, too, as we hosted our team from Mumbai in Chicago.  It was a fun turning of the tables, with me as weekend tour guide and food finder, and it was enlightening for both sides to see what it’s like when you are now the host or the guest.  “Everything here is so convenient” was the oft-repeated mantra from our visitors.  Make of that what you will; it gave me pause after I heard it the fifth or sixth time.

One of the best parts of having the Mumbai team in Chicago was watching both parts of my overall project team meet in person – and subsequently abolish all their preconceived notions of each other!  Skype and email communiques really can throw of your judgment.  As we’ve all probably heard, it’s not what you say but how you say it.  And, in the case of our Mumbai-Chicago pairing, we are often saying the same thing yet with different words or phrasing.  My Chicago folks have pointed out that after two years of this India stuff, I have certainly picked up a few of the local phrases.  Here now, a guide to Indian and American (Ahmurican!) English:

Ahmurican	Indian	Use it in a sentence, please.
Hours	Timings	Office timings are 8-5 pm.
Work	Office	I go to work, whereas Nikhil goes to office, not the office.
This morning	Today morning	Today morning, I had breakfast before going to office.
Day after tomorrow	Tomorrow day after	Tomorrow day after, I will be working in Mumbai.
Yet, or as of yet	As yet	There is no answer as yet.
Sunglasses	Glares	She put on her glares so she wouldn’t squint.
Grouped	Clubbed	Those rooms are clubbed together in the department.
Carry-on baggage	Hand/cabin luggages	Be sure to get your hand luggages stamped in security.
Arrived	Reached	I reached home later than planned.
Respond/response	Revert  back/revert	Please accept my apologies for the delayed revert.
Move up	Pre-pone	My calendar opened up so we can pre-pone the meeting.
I request that	I request you	I request you to send me confirmation.
Get rest	Take rest	Take rest so you feel better.
Will	Shall	I shall send it over. (It’s surprising how often “shall” is used instead of “will.”)
Text	SMS	SMS me when you arrive.
Undecided	In/of two minds	You were of two minds about what to pack.
Mail	Post	He sent it to you via post.
Private office	Cabin	She was on a conference call in her cabin.
Street	Lane	It’s on the next lane over.
Complain	Crib	He was cribbing to his mom about the dinner menu.
Live	Stay	My friend stays in Goregoan.
Take a picture	Click a photo	We clicked lots of photos at the party.
Many	Lot many	There are lot many things to do today.

This list is by no means comprehensive and I will try to add to it as this next adventure unfolds.  I find a certain charm to it all; we’re speaking the same root language and yet there are times when we have no idea what the other side is saying. 

It’s time to sign off and gear up for the long haul over there.  Let’s talk again, tomorrow day after.

India: Monsooner or Later

Here we are again, kids.  Me waiting for the 11:10 pm departure of flight UA49 at Mumbai International Airport.  The time didn't fly, it evaporated.

Continuing in the theme of beauty products foreshadowing life, the nail polish I was sporting on my toes when I landed was OPI's "Monsooner or Later."  I got to experience the monsoon season in all its early glory during this trip.  What's funny is almost nothing is perfectly on time in India and rarer yet are things ahead of schedule.  Except the 2013 rains.  They showed up on Sunday, two days before the meteorologists' predictions, and it has been a soggy city ever since.

I was told that Mumbai can be at its most charming during "the rains."  Indeed, it has a certain appeal.  Suddenly, drinking hot coffee on a dark leather chair doesn't seem out of place.  Fun detail: my coworker Purvashri used my name to place the order because apparently the anglo-saxon "Catherine" is easier to spell (kind of) than the indigenous "Purvashri?"

Laundry hanging to dry never quite dries.  I tried to dry out my running clothes in the hotel by cranking up the A/C.  Bad idea.  All it did was put a chill in the air while failing to crisp things up simultaneously.  On the upside, my skin has never looked so moisturized.

During many of the late nights on the phone, the general silence outside would be interrupted by a sudden uproar of cheers and horns honking.  I quickly learned that this meant the rain was falling more intensely and everyone was rejoicing.  Yes, loving getting drenched.  I wanted to go out one night and take part in the giant communal baptism but feared my clothes would be a soggy disaster when trying to pack.  Next time.

Cab rides are the poor man's version of a day at the spa AND amusement park.  You hop in and within minutes everything is steamy because no one wants to crank open a window and yet air conditioning isn't a standard feature in the mini Fiats.  After you've received your complimentary steam treatment you then exit the vehicle and feel a very soggy bottom.  It's the same sensation as riding the log flume ride at your favorite amusement park.  You get in the log/taxi thinking "Hey, this seat's pretty dry so there's hope."  Then you depart 3 minutes later looking for napkins to literally wipe away the embarrassment of your droopy drawers.

But perhaps what struck me most about monsoon season, and this trip in general, is that sunny Mumbai had gone away for a few months.  Everyday life patterns change and adapt to the perpetual rain.  Clouds fill the sky most days, all day.  The fabulous sunsets from the business lounge at the hotel were invisible (but the it-will-do Indian wine was always in sight!)  I found myself jumping out of bed one morning when there was a trace of sunshine to welcome a morning run on Marine Drive.  Quick!  Get it before it's gone!

And on that note, they've just announced boarding for my flight.  I must get that before it's gone, too.  This was a good trip, but a hard one, if for no other reason than the many hours logged at the office and away from home.  As seems to be the new habit, the hotel staff all asked when I'd be returning.  It was a funny feeling as I thought aloud, "Um, whenever."  Normally, I'm such a planner with these things but for whatever reason, I'll leave it up to someone or something else to decide when I head back to this crazy town.  Monsooner or later!