Category: Personal

Anything and everything about me and my life. You’ll have to hunt a lot for gossip-worthy tidbits, though.

How to Order Pizza in India: a Rant [en]

[fr] 45 minutes au téléphone (et 5 appels différents) pour commander une pizza. Mais j'ai réussi!

This is a little rant while I wait for said pizza to arrive. Yes, I actually did manage to order pizza. Here’s how I did it.

Called Domino’s Pizza main customer service line, told them where I was (IUCAA, near Khadki-Aundh Road), and was transferred to Aundh branch, where I was promptly told delivery was not possible and that DP Road branch would deliver to me.

I took down DP Road’s branch number, called them, and was told that Aundh branch was the correct branch to call for my address (this required me to be transferred to somebody who spoke English I could more or less understand — I hate doing stuff by phone in India). I told them the Aundh branch had sent me to them, but was told to call them and that they would deliver to me.

I took down the Aundh branch number and called them again. The service rep’s English was minimal (he quickly told me delivery was not possible, but I insisted, and told them I had already had pizzas delivered here — true, ate a lot when I lived here with Aleika) so I ended putting Nisha’s niece on the line to improve communication (Hindi/Marathi). After a long conversation, the conclusion was that they would not deliver because the pizza would be cold.

Enter Twitter: should I expect to be able to get delivery? Well, yes, here’s the closest branch: SB Road.

So, I gather my courage and call the general customer service number (which I’m starting to know by heart) again. (Side-note to readers: the pizza has arrived and I have eaten it since starting to write this post — I’m feeling less ranty and more proud of myself. A full stomach will do that.)

I am told that SB Road branch does not exist or is not in the system. Will DP Road do? No, DP road will not do. I explain what I’ve already been through, and that I would like to know which branch to call to get a delivery, and that I suspect it might be SB Road. No, no, it doesn’t exist. Again, as I’m having a lot of trouble understanding the CSR on the line (not just their fault — my Indian English is not 100% and I’m particularly bad with accents on the phone), I put Nisha’s niece on the line.

It doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere really interesting, and looking at the website again I see the direct number for the branch is provided. We hang up, I take a deep breath, and I call again. This time, I am not told that delivery is impossible. My order goes smoothly — understand: it takes me about 10 minutes to give my address. The street name is Akashganga. OK, Akashganga. What is the street name? Er… Akashganga. In IUCAA. So, IUCAA ### (flat number). No, Akashganga. In IUCAA. IUCAA is the housing complex. So, Akashganga, IUCAA, near what landmark? Er… IUCAA, the astrophysics department. Near the University Campus back gate. So, Akashganga, IUCAA, near physics department. No, near the back gate. (10 good minutes of that. I’m patient. I explain everything in detail. I double-check they have my number right. I explain there are security guards who can direct the delivery boy. I say again it’s right at the back of the University campus.)

I give my order. This is about 45 minutes after my first call to Domino’s Pizza. What’s wrong with this picture?

But everything seems fine. I put down the phone, take a deep breath, and go and take a quick bath to wash of a full day’s roaming in the polluted city (a lot of it on foot, including beggar kids grabbing me and wiping their hands all over my clothes — worse begging in the space of 5 minutes near the top of Jangli Maharaj Road than I had in months when I was living here).

Totally surprisingly (I have to say), the pizza arrives reasonably quickly, still warm, and without the delivery guy having to call us. If only ordering had been so simple.

(OK, next time I’m ordering online. I was put off by the fact they required an Indian number, but thinking of it now, I could have provided the landline to where I’m staying — which I did on the phone anyway. Oh well. One learns.)

Basically, once I was on the line with the right branch, I was pretty much OK. But the service provided before that was disastrous: pillar to post, and nobody able to send me to the right place or provide me more useful information than “not possible”. Twitter provided better customer service than Domino’s, in this case. Thanks again, Sahil.

Time-Melt in Pune [en]

[fr] Encore des nouvelles de Pune, où tout se passe bien. Mes photos sont en ligne (en vrac).

I’m losing track of time. When did I get here? A week ago already? It has flown by so fast, but it feels like I’ve been living here (almost) all my life.

We just got home from a wonderful meal at Shabree, a restaurant that does Maharashtrian thalis. We ate till we (almost) burst!

Finding a rickshaw home tonight was easier than last night, when I watched a bunch of guys my jeweler had asked stop at least a dozen rickshaws before finding one who would take us back from MG Road.

Pune 191 Laxmi Road Shopping.jpg

I think I definitely like Laxmi Road way better than MG Road. It’s more alive, more “real”, less “trying to be upmarket”. There are nice shops in and around MG Road though, but if it’s just for pleasure, I’ll take Laxmi Road. Our trip today was successful: goda masala (I still need to write up some Nisha recipes for you, I can’t keep up!) and a few other spices, Nisha’s brand of tea, an oil-lamp for my dad, lots of cheap fresh coriander, nail polish, and a few other things I forget. Oh yes, we found a shop which probably has the cable or card reader we’re looking for.

In other news, I dump-uploaded my photos, so they’re now visible online in my Pune 2010-2011 set. Clearly some of them need a little work (whether I’ll ever get around to doing it is another story) and I need to break them up into smaller, more manageable sets. Feel free to add tags to the photos and to point out which ones you think are particularly good — it really helps me after when I try to turn them into something presentable.

I’m exhausted again (because the day was long and nice!) so I’m going to leave things here — aren’t holidays supposed to be restful? 😉

Can't Keep Up With My Pune Photos! [en]

[fr] Des nouvelles de Pune. Les photos viendront, mais j'ai de la peine à suivre!

Help, I can’t keep up! I’ve settled down nicely now and been taking lots of photographs — in the University campus while walking the dogs with the Shindes, and in Laxmi Road yesterday with Mithun and family (got to meet his lovely wife, and his mother is an absolutely fabulous shopping partner).

Pune 218 Laxmi Road Shopping.jpg

So, I’ve been busier, with less time to sort photos and write, and I’m falling behind. And now my dad has arrived, so it’s going to get even worse!

After a couple of days here, I started to feel an urge (a) to come here more often and (b) to come and live here again. Of course, it goes back and forth, and I’m regularly very happy to be living in tame Switzerland — like when a rickshawallah agrees to take me to IUCAA, leaves the meter running at the petrol station, refuses to stop it when I tell him, and then dumps me at the university gate because he won’t go into the campus. Or when I’m trying on something that is clearly too small for me and I’m told repeatedly that it fits me perfectly (no it doesn’t: if I reach forward I’ll rip the fabric, and I’ll have to get into really uncomfortable positions to get out of it). Or when I ask for size 9 sandals, am told the size 6 I have in hand is a hand 9 (upside down, see?), and that my own size 9 sandals are bigger in size than their “size 9” because they’re Kohlapuri chappals. Gah.

But aside from these little frustrations, I’m thoroughly enjoying my time here. My Hindi (er Hinglish… my Hindi teachers would be appalled) is slowly coming back, I’m remembering the roads and generally how to deal with the world around me.

I tested the Pune Twitter connexion, with great success! Thanks in particular to MrShri, SahilK, and ZoebAsif for helping me out with my laptop repair (not my laptop, don’t worry!) — and all the others I’ve been in contact with upto now.

Right, I’ll try and make a little progress with these photos, before heading out to MG Road again in a bit!

A Few Days in Pune, and Dress Material [en]

[fr] Quelques premiers jours à Pune!

I’ve been in Pune for a few days now. So, what have I been up to? Well, mainly, hanging out at the Shindes.

I remember that during my last visit here I spent days on end just reading and chilling, and feeling a little guilty that I wasn’t “making the most” of my stay. But I realized that India for me is also simply about slowing down my pace of life, which includes reading (and writing) and chilling — and watching Nisha cook so I can steal her recipes.

I’ve been out a few times now: twice to MG Road, once to Ambedkar Chowk, to Pimpri and to Parvati to pay a visit to Pradnya, who was Bagha and Cali‘s vet when we lived here, and is now the Shindes.

Pune has changed a lot, but it also hasn’t. There are flyovers and big glass buildings and malls and huge petrol stations that weren’t there last time I came, but other things seem almost just like I left them: my choli-maker is still in service, as is my jeweler, the Pune Coffee House in Camp still exists as do many of the shops I went to, and most of the people I knew are still around.

The trip to Pimpri was epic: three different rickshaws to get there, none of them by the meter, of course. Good thing there were “six-seaters” somewhere along the way (I use brackets because they’re not really six-seaters, they’re just normal rickshaws in which people pile up).

Dress material in Pimpri, my favourites from shop #1 Dress material in Pimpri, my favourites from shop #2 Dress material in Pimpri, my favourites from shop #3

My ambition was to find a pink and silver salwaar kameez in today’s fashion. My dresses are clearly a little out of fashion, and I spotted a few cute pink ones on the street with silver embroidery. Ready-made would have been ideal given I’m not going to be in Pune for long, but after trying on one or two I quickly gave up: even the biggest of their biggest XL was too small for me. I moved on to dress material, but without finding something what I was looking for. Some nice things, of course, but not what I had in my head. If only I could draw clothes! I did see something approaching what I wanted, but… in green. Oh well.

What I'm actually looking for, but in pink

Maybe I’ll just end up buying fabric and having a shot at drawing (gasp!) something.

Sorting Through Grief [en]

So, in the process of coming to terms with Bagha’s death — or at least, moving forward in that direction — I’ve tried to identify what made him special and unique for me. You see, when losing a pet you’re as attached to as I was to Bagha, a lot of things get mixed up.

Cute Sleeping Bagha at Eclau

I think it helps to differentiate, for example, between the pain of being “petless” and the pain of losing this specific pet. Here are some of the levels I can make out:

  • what it means for me to now be living completely alone (ie, “petless” => by extension, what having a pet — any pet — adds to my life)
  • what made Bagha special, as compared to other cats (his personal caracteristics, pretty objectively)
  • what made Bagha special for me, in terms of the relationship we had and what he meant to me.

I made a pretty long list in the days following his death. One of the reasons I’m doing this is that I have trouble sorting out the levels (even simply hoping they make sense). The idea is to identify what I am really grieving here (yeah, my cat of course, but let’s skip the obvious) and also — this is the difficult part for me — to pinpoint what remains for me of this feline relationship.

What made it worthwhile? What justifies or compensates the suffering when it ends? What is really hurting because of this particular loss, and what is just old stuff coming back to the surface? Because without that, the obvious conclusion to this much grief (and those who have been through separations of any type in their life can probably relate) is vowing never to put oneself in a situation that leaves the door open to suffering like this again. To put it clearly: to be able to love (or bond) you need to be able to grieve (to come to terms with loss).

I’ll dive into this exercise in another post. First of all, because it will be long — and second, because it’s not easy, and I think I have to take things little by little. Writing this up is the first step.

Happy to See You, 2011 [en]

Let me say it clearly: just like Nicole’s did, my 2010 sucked raw eggs. I won’t go over the details of the bad stuff — suffice to say that losing Bagha was just the last of 2010’s rotten offerings to me, right when I was starting to feel back on my feet again and thinking that I was done with this crappy year.

There have been good things, though: more work opportunities than I can handle, finances back on track, good health, sailing, friends, a judo 2nd dan, better organization as a freelance professional, and of course… growth (gotta love them bad times, they make you grow like nothing else does).

Enough looking back. What’s important is what’s ahead. I don’t make resolutions, though I try to give my year a direction or objectives — a bit in the spirit of 6changes, though it’s not exactly that.

So, what’s to look forward to in 2011?

  • my holidays are set — stick to them and travel more with my friends (one of the advantages of being catless, it makes traveling simpler)
  • keep up the good job with my work, and free up more work-time for research, reading, writing, and generally fooling around online (my “food” if I want to continue being as good at what I do)
  • get an aquarium for eclau
  • look after my plants better, get orchids, grow veggies on my balcony (Jamie Oliver style)
  • more cooking and inviting people (good food, and nurturing my tribe)
  • go sailing, hiking, sing, and do judo

There will probably be more or less to this year ahead. But that’s what comes to my mind as I look forward.

On Grief and Losing Bagha [en]

I’m in India. I’m in Pune. I’m in IUCAA. I’m where Bagha was born, where I started to love him. It’s also the place where I spent a short year with Aleika, Somak and Akirno, and the Shindes, and all the other people and beasts who were part of my Indian world. That world is gone forever.

So as I grieve for my cat, I also grieve for these other pieces of my life which are lost and gone, never to return. Being here makes it all the more raw — also because I’m so happy to be here.

Pause à l'eclau 7

I’m still terribly sad about losing Bagha. I’ve been crying every day since he died. I didn’t have much time to myself between packing and traveling and arriving here, and it’s all been piling up, because I’ve been forgetting. Completely forgetting, because there has been so much positive excitement these last two days.

But now I’ve been remembering. Remembering that I miss Bagha not because I left him at home to go on a trip, but because he is gone, gone, gone. And it hurts like hell.

I don’t believe in any afterlife. I don’t believe in any spirit hanging around. There is no more Bagha, except in our photographs, our memories, and the changes he might have brought around in our lives. In mine, in any case.

I hinted that I would be telling you more about what I’m going through and learning these days. I actually started writing about what I was discovering about grief the other day, but got lost somewhere in the middle.

Grief is a weird state: it goes back and forth, up and down.

The first days after Bagha’s death, I would find myself going from a kind of numbness in which I’d “forgotten” he was dead to the horrible realization it was true even though I “couldn’t believe it”, and then devastating sadness in which my world seemed to have come to an end, and from which I had the feeling I would never emerge. And back out and back in again.

I would wake up crying in the morning and go to sleep crying at night. I had no trouble sleeping, however, to my surprise: I discovered that it is not sadness but anxiety which keeps one awake all night, mind spinning, too wired to slow down one’s thoughts enough to fade into sleep. For me, at least, grief seems to tire me out.

I put most of his things away over the first few days. Not in an attempt to make all traces of his presence disappear — more as a way to try and accept that these bowls, pieces of string and old expired meds would not be needed anymore. It took me a long time (until my imminent departure, actually) to touch his spot on my desk, though: I could still see the shape of his body on the pillow, and feel myself hanging on to this very physical trace of him.

Cleaning the flat was very hard. Tidying up. Removing the subtle remains of his presence in my life. The first time I hoovered without him trying to run out of the flat. The first time I changed the sheets without him trying to get under them. The first time I washed things in the bathtub without having to worry about him drinking the soapy water.

That cat was everywhere, all along my days. Watching TV: a break comes up, where’s the cat? I get up from what I’m doing, “to find the cat”. All these reflexes which are now meaningless.

My one consolation right now is that my grief is simple. I did everything right with this cat. He was a wonderful pet. I have no regrets. He lived a long life (14 years is not exceptional, but as Aleika put it, he probably outlived all of his litter-mates by at least 8 years) and even died pretty well (if one can die “well”). I don’t feel guilty, there’s nobody to be mad at, I knew he was going to die someday, and I treasured the time I had with him, specially these last few years.

It doesn’t make things easy, but it makes them simple. Even when it hurts as much as it does right now, I know that what I’m going through is normal, and that it will get better in time and tears, and that I will probably be ready at some point for new feline companionship.

So here it is: the one pain I’ve spent my whole life being so afraid of. I’m in it, it’s dreadful, but I’m still alive and happy to be. I have plans, I want to do things, I laugh and I smile. Life goes on, it really does, I know it for good now.

It hurts, but it goes on.

What Christmas Means to Me [en]

[fr] Une réflexion sur ce que Noël représente pour moi -- en réaction aux "anti-Noëls" qui rejettent un peu le tout en bloc pour contrer les excès consuméristes des fêtes de fin d'année...

Each Christmas season, I feel the urge to write a blog post about what Christmas means to me. I haven’t done it yet (I actually had to go and check my archives for these last years to make sure, because I thought I had).

I’m sure that like me, you’ve stumbled upon your share of articles online decrying Christmas excesses. In reaction to out-of-control consumerism, some stop giving presents, others do away with Christmas altogether. And then you have those who argue that as atheists or practitioners of another religion, they “don’t do Christmas, because they’re not Christian”.

I’m aware I might be missing part of the point here because most of this anti-Christmas sentiment seems to come from the US, and is as such a reaction to Christmas-in-the-US, when all I know is Christmas-in-Switzerland.

Nevertheless, I want to bear witness that it is possible enjoy Christmas, with gifts and without excesses, whatever religious dimension you give — or don’t give — to this pagan-christian-consumerist celebration.

I guess it helps that as a child, I experienced Christmas as an exciting family gathering, where I got to see my uncles and aunts and cousins all together once a year. That usually meant between a dozen and eighteen people in the house for whoever was organizing. I guess it was more stressful for the parent generation than for us kids, but in any case I think it was never so bad as to make the atmosphere sour.

I’m an atheist, but I have nothing against religion in general. And though Christmas has roots in Christian (and pagan!) tradition, to me it has become a secular celebration — though I find it is not unhealthy to use the occasion to reflect upon values such as sharing, love, hope and peace. We of the West live in a mainly Christian culture, and Christmas is part of that. I’d be curious to know if Christians in India refuse to celebrate Diwali, for example.

Of course, secularization can translate into rampant overdone commercialization, which I think is a shame. But it’s upto each of us to draw the lines, and I find it sad when this has to be done by rejecting the celebration altogether: I’ve never been a fan of throwing away the baby with the bath water.

I like Christmas. Even though my family has fragmented with the years, it’s an occasion to spend an evening around a nice meal with the people I love and exchange gifts with them. What is wrong with that?

A nice meal doesn’t have to equate with waste and over-indulging (let’s stop at indulging, shall we?) and gifts do not have to be terribly elaborate or horrendously expensive to make somebody happy.

I think exchanging presents is a nice gesture. This year, we had a laugh at my dad’s because some of us ended up trading tea tins or bath products. The result of the equation is not that important (who cares if you give somebody tea and they give you tea too?!) but the act of giving.

We should not completely disregard the worldly pleasures of simple physical gifts because we would rather wish for lofty immaterial gifts for mankind. Of course we would rather have world peace. But I’m so happy about the book you gave me.

This year, in addition to my family Christmas celebrations, I had a “Christmas with friends” for the first time. Half a dozen of us gathered at Nicole‘s place, I prepared daal, guacamole and salad, and we had a lovely evening preparing food, chatting and eating.

For me, this is what Christmas is about.

So, maybe I don’t get it, but a lot of the fuss around Christmas excesses seems pretty easy to solve: scale things down a bit if you’ve been going overboard. Focus on having a nice time with those who are dear to you. Release some of your internal pressure to live up to expectations (real or imagined) you’re not comfortable with.

It sounds too simple. I must be missing something. I hope you enjoyed your Christmas celebrations — or absence thereof if that was your choice.

A Week Without My Cat [en]

[fr] Une semaine depuis la mort de Bagha. Difficile, mais aussi plus facile que ce que je craignais, d'une certaine façon. Merci pour tous vos messages de sympathie.

Chalet and Surroundings 62: Steph and Bagha

Bagha died a week ago. It’s been a difficult week. In some ways, however, it’s been easier than I feared.

I felt like it was the end of the world when he died. A week later, I realize I’m still alive despite the pain, and life goes on. I have good friends and a lot of supportive people around me, and my catless days are made up of more and more “normal” moments, and less and less “distressed” ones.

My life at home is having a hard time feeling anything close to normal, however. I miss Bagha terribly. I want my cat back. I know I can’t, of course — “wanting him back” is one of the ways I’m struggling to accept he’s really dead. With Christmas and impending travel, I feel like I’m not having enough down-time at home to process the emotional turmoil I’m in, or simply let it settle.

I have a lot to write, but I’m finding it difficult to actually accomplish much these days. I have two blog posts underway (one Bagha-related, the other about something else) but I’m stuck in the middle, something that almost never happens to me. Stress, grief, nothing alarming of course, but I’m not used to finding it so difficult to function in this way. So, amidst a potential slew of India-related posts while I’m there, expect to find a fair number of Bagha-related ones.

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you might have seen that I have finally decided not to take Bagha’s ashes back to India. Bagha belonged here, with me, in this Swiss garden that was his home for the last eleven years. This is where I want his ashes — not far, far away in India, even though he was born there. I don’t want to do things in a rush, either, so I’ll wait until I’m back (I have two days left to pack and sort out everything before my departure).

Thanks again to everyone for your kind words of sympathy and support. It means a lot to me.

Bye-Bye Bagha (1996-2010) [en]

My beloved Bagha died last night of a heart attack.

Bagha @eclau 3

As all of you who know me can imagine, I’m devastated. Bagha has been my constant companion through the last 11 years — at home and at work, from India to Switzerland, and the cuddly purrball of my often lonely nights.

Bagha was an extraordinary cat with a lot of character and a quite incredible early life story. By some weird twist of fate, in less than two weeks I’m heading back to the precise place in India it all started a little over 14 years ago. My plan is to take Bagha’s ashes with me.

I knew I’d have to write this post one day, but I really thought I’d have more time to prepare for it. Bagha was FIV+ and had a heart condition, and he’d been showing clear signs of ageing and slowing down these last two or three years. But I thought he would continue slowing down, or develop complications due to his FIV status. I didn’t imagine it would be this brutal.

His last day was very normal: out for a stroll, back in for some food, a cuddle, and the beginning of his long day-time naps. He spent the afternoon on the bed while my friends and I baked Christmas cakes, coming over to help us clean egg-yolk mess from the floor (a rare treat for him).

We heard him crying out early evening and found him trying to hide under the bed, in pretty poor shape. Though we rushed him to the emergency vet, his heart was too damaged, his body temperature was dropping, and there was nothing to do but let him go.

Facing life without Bagha is a bit scary. I sometimes said we were like an old couple. We knew each other well, had our habits, and our lives integrated pretty seamlessly. I moved into this flat with him 10 years ago. He’s been the resident cat at eclau for the past two years.

I wonder how much time it will take for me to stop expecting him to show up or be in the garden when I come home. How long I’ll wake up in the morning surprised that he isn’t on the bed, or hasn’t woken me up to be let out.

I miss him terribly.

A lot of people knew Bagha. He was already famous in IUCAA (Pune) when we were living there. He quickly made a name for himself in his new Swiss neighbourhood. He’s had a good handfull of catsitters during the last 10 years, who came to live in my flat and care for him while I was travelling. He has fans online and offline, not least through eclau.

I can’t face telling everybody who knew him personally right now, so forgive me if you learned this sad news through this blog post.

Bagha was a great pet, and I know I treated him well, and he had a great life. There are worse ways to go, too. I’m thankful he was a part of my life for as long as it lasted. And I think that everybody who crossed paths with him, for a few minutes or much longer, was lucky for it.

Bye-Bye Bagha. You were loved. You’ll be missed.