Procrastiblog

Journey to Lalbagh

Autorickshaws in this city have an infuriating tendency to: a) refuse to take you to perfectly reasonable places, b) try to convince you to pay a flat rate or a surcharge, even though they have meters, and are legally required to use them, and c) ask you to please pay them a little extra after you’ve arrived, when you’ve already argued over the meter before you started.

In the case of (a) you’re basically screwed, you just have to keep asking until someone says yes. In the case of (b), they usually relent if you insist, but not always, and you may find yourself taking the long way around to your destination. In the case of (c), you can just hop out and tell them to shove it, but you shouldn’t expect exact change to be forthcoming.

Today, I had at least a half dozen drivers refuse to take me to the City Market outright, and another handful refuse to take me on the meter. I got into one rickshaw whose driver refused to take me unless I would stop at a jewelry store along the way. I ended up walking all the way downtown (about 2.5 miles, as the crow flies) to the India Coffee House, where I enjoyed several cups of light, sweet coffee (the first decent cups I’ve had in this country).

I am not one of these people.

Instant coffee is surprisingly acceptable when you have no other options. The espresso machine in the office makes a barely tolerable cup of weak coffee. When I first arrived, you had to memorize the morphism:

Black coffee = Hot water
Large black coffee = coffee w/ milk
Espresso = Milk

Since then, somebody has helpfully annotated the machine.

Problem solved.

* Shout out to Rich Hall.

Apparently, I had to come all the way to India—and spend a week and a half eating daal and chapati—to find the titular ultra-Atkins snack. Incredibly yummy, but also fairly nauseating.

I’ve posted some photos of a wedding taking place down the street from me, right this very minute. When I walked up to the gate, camera in hand, a man in a uniform invited me to come in and take a closer look. As I walked back out, the same man told me that taking pictures was “against their culture” and looked kind of upset. This was strange, because there was a professional photographer and videographer standing right there. I apologized, and told him I hadn’t understood. But here I’ve gone and posted the pictures anyway. If anyone is offended by this, or knows for a fact that this would offend the relevant persons, please let me know and I’ll take the pictures down.

If anyone asks, I’m from Denmark.

Nope.

Well, yeah. Lots of dogs.

I haven’t seen any monkeys yet. (I’m looking at you, Kedar.)