"It's actually really good if you can get past the fact they made it with ketchup."

... The title was a quote from James, in reference to the "Mexican salsa" served along with our "Mexican" nachos, quesadilla, chimichanga and burrito. All of them were made of the exact same thing: Chicken, some creamy white sauce with peas and corn in it, "sour cream" that was just mayo with some spices, and a tortilla. The burrito and chimichanga came smothered in authentic American bbq sauce. Oddly tasty. See photo.

What can I say? There are good days, and there are not so good days. Today was one of the latter kind. Six hours of studying (on Indian Independence Day -- our day off, mind you), and several work days that went well into the night were not enough to earn me a passing grade on my programming fundamentals test this morning. I am not alone, but among the vast majority of our class who failed this test. The Debbie Downer in me keeps saying stupid things like "well, maybe you're not cut out for this. Maybe you just didn't try very hard." But then when I'm being real about it I get all fired up because I'm no dummy, and I've been working my ass off all this time and something about this teaching style has got to change. It's one thing to listen to someone talk at you with little to no practice with the concepts or interaction for 3.5 hours every once in a while, but it is another to do this routine day after day. Every concept I'm learning is brand new to me, and before I've had the chance to absorb it, we're on to the next concept, which only builds upon the previous. And then it just keeps building and building. To say the least, I am frustrated. Most, if not all of us are.

But to be less of a Debbie Downer, here are some of the highlights from the past several days:

Mmmm. Schwarmmmmmmmas. There's a great little joint in Mysore called "Lemon Tree." They're a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves chicken and schwarmas, which are basically chicken gyros on small pita-type bread. AMAZING. And at something that converts to about 35 cents for each one, that's a tasty cheap meal.

"It's a bird! It's a plane! It's SUPER FIRE-ALARM MAN!!!"
While sitting in class today, we were in the midst of a heated debated with HR about a new 10p.m. curfew policy (weekends included), when we heard an odd sort of screechy-scream of sorts outside the door. This went on for several minutes before we were told that this was, in fact, a fire alarm, and that we all had to evacuate the building promptly. Now think back to high school when everyone is just kind of lazily gliding to the door in a "here we go again" manner. This was the same kind of thing, but with one major difference: There are no alarms installed on the walls. No clanging, piercing hammer-on-bell objects. And yet, there was this noise. Where was this noise coming from? As we headed for the steps, we heard the alarm getting louder. And then, THEN, from around the corner, in a startlingly dedicated fashion, came a guard, running. Not only was he running, but he was blowing a whistle. Oh, AND he was turning the crank on a giant horn attached to his belly, much like a percussionist in a marching band carries their drum. And at this sight, much of the built-up tension from a stressful day melted (temporarily) away.

"Soccer game ... Cricket game ... Soccer game ... Cricket game ..."
Yesterday during a bit of free time, I went down to the soccer/cricket field to watch a match between Americans and Indians. When I got there, I thought something seemed a little amiss. That's when my friends and I realized that there was a cricket game going on in the middle of the soccer game. Right there. Cricket paddles, balls and all. It turns out there was a group of guys playing cricket who had been there all day, and when their game ended, they were not so willing to give up the field for an hour-long soccer game. The field is not reservable. So the soccer boys, feeling peeved that these guys wouldn't share the field for one hour when they had already been there all day, proceeded to play the game right through the cricket game. I've never seen anything like it. It was hilarious.

It may cause cancer
Sarah brought microwave popcorn to India. We have no microwaves in our rooms, and a cheap one here is over $100. So today, Sarah wanted some of her popcorn, and I accompanied her to the Floating Restaurant on campus, where we knew they had a microwave. We presented two bags of microwave popcorn to Unni, the sweetest, most kindly person you'll ever meet.
"Okay, Unni. Here, you just take off the plastic and you unfold it, and just put it in the microwave for 3 minutes, okay?"
"Okay, yeah! Sure, of course!"
"Okay, so just 3 minutes, just like this."
"Yeah, okay!"
... 3 minutes go by. And 4. And 5. And maybe also 6 or 7. We decide to check out the popcorn situation. Calling for Unni, we declare that "it's okay, Unni -- we don't really need it. It's no big deal if it burned. We burn popcorn all the time!" And to our surprise, Unni comes over and tells us that it's not ready yet. Not ready? After a good 7 minutes in a microwave? "But it should be good in about 3 minutes." Unni: "Well, it isn't done. I don't know why." And Unni convinces us to stick around for 3 more minutes. Three minutes pass and sure enough, out comes Unni carrying a giant plastic fruit bowl with a good pile of uncooked, buttered popcorn seeds and about 1.5 cups of popped popcorn. Out of the bag. There was a big bubble in the plastic bowl and it was scalding from being in the microwave for so long. It was so cute.
"Unni," I said, "you didn't have to scrape it out of the bag. You can just put the bag in the microwave..."
"Oh, yeah, sure! Sure! Yeah!"
It gave us a good giggle. And the popcorn we did get out of the deal was delicious.

I didn't look awkward at all.

A plain 'ol walk down one of the main shopping streets in town.

Goat Crossing

Our taxi stops to wait for a herd of goats to cross the street. No biggie.

I "clicked" some more pictures

That's what they say here. "If you need to get your picture clicked, the photo clicker will be here tomorrow at noon."

I think it's cute.

Anyways ... Photo update!

Week deux in India

Mysore gets lit

And the winner of the Annual Block Christmas Light Display goes to...

Mysore Palace on a Sunday night. Feel the magic.

"Mysore -- Put down your drinks and DANCE!!!"

A clip of what it means to party on the Infosys campus. This was on a Thursday night.

Tom Falls Asleep

Tom, one of the U.S. trainees at Infosys, asleep on the bus. I think he hurt himself.



NOTE: Make sure your volume isn't all the way up when you play this. There are some really weird clicky noises in the beginning ...

And I'm all "Look at his 01101101 01101111 01110101 01110011 01110100 01100001 01100011 01101000 01100101! It's HUGE!"

Moustache. 01101101 01101111 01110101 01110011 01110100 01100001 01100011 01101000 01100101 is moustache.

Yesterday we started what I consider to be our "real" training here on campus. I, the journalism major, finally learned binary. And octal. AND hexadecimal. Hello, world!

I loved it. As my new friend and co-worker Melissa put it, "it was fun in a sick, sudoku sort of way." I couldn't put it better myself. And already I'm making awful "I speak binary" jokes that make me sound horrifically and completely, stereotypically and bonafide-ily(?), nerdified.

I'm sure this phase will pass. Maybe. :) But what's important is that I'm getting this stuff and liking it and feel good about it, for now. To me, it's confirmation that it's never too late to learn something new, and actually become good at it.

As a reward (okay, I would have done this anyway) some of us are going to the spa tomorrow, where we will be pampered for hours on end at just a fraction of the U.S. cost. Oh, India. The perks are endless.

Anyone who has any programming experience is right now thinking "Oh, Lord. This girl is going to be managing new software implementations for companies I use?" The answer is yes. She is. Just give me some time.

What the ...??? BAM!

Remember when I said I had a story to share about standing out in India? The time has come to share it. Mainly because I had one too many flaming shots last night and moving from my bed right now sounds nothing short of death-like.

Last weekend I ventured to Bangalore, India's high-tech hub and the location in which your call gets routed when you're trying to figure out why the heck your operating system just stopped working. They may say their name is George or Fred or Nancy, but if you detect a hint of an Indian accent, it's more likely their name is something unpronounceable to you, the confused American consumer of all that are goods.

So I went to Bangalore with 3 other girls, 2 of us blond, 3 of us well over the average Indian women's height, and all of us white. Whenever we're in the car, we are stared at so blatantly by other people in surrounding cars that staring back just seems pointless. Buses of men craned their necks to look at us. A father excitedly points us out to his family. Others just stare and shake their heads, as though we've each got 5 ourselves. But the dude who wins the prize for "Most Dedicated Stare" is the one who was SO distracted by our presence that he got hit by a rickshaw. An auto-rickshaw. He wasn't hurt or anything, just more startled and confused, I think. Now before you go and think I'm making nothing out of a huge deal, let me just say this: It's not a huge deal. Here's why:
Traffic is an absolute mess in Bangalore, and when I say mess I don't mean that I-25 is backed up past 120th, no. I mean mess as in the cow in the road just caused us to swerve, which in turn caused the family of 4 on the motorcycle next to us (with an infant on the handlebars) to nearly collide with the oncoming traffic on either side of us, cutting within inches of the public transit bus that's holding at LEAST double its capacity, with about 6 men literally hanging outside the door of the bus with one foot on the step and a hand fiercely gripping the metal railing. Horns are honking. Rain is pouring. Streets are flooded. This is all very normal.

So when you put it into that context, it all seems a bit more comical than it does horrifying. I also want to make the point that the staring thing, it's not as offensive as I'm making it out to be. It's not considered rude here, and now that I'm used to it I'm only bothered by situations in which the 2 guys at the neighboring table speak little more than a few words to each other, because the rest of their entire 1.5 hour meal they've got their heads turned toward us, obviously hearing our every discussion and not at all concerned that this might be uncomfortable, or at the very least, super awkward. Honestly, though, if seeing foreigners were such a rarity to me, I would be curious, too.

A Day in the Life

I am well into week 2 in India, and I still can't complain ... much. There are many frustrations we've all felt in this adjustment phase -- getting used to a very different style of functioning, really. I can't say I haven't been disappointed by some of the reactive behavior I've seen in our U.S. batch to all this change. When you get a group of people into a situation that's slightly outside their comfort zone, like, say, a third world country ... you learn that everyone has different coping skills (or lack thereof). But our experience in India is anything but ordinary. Here is a quick sample of what I encounter and do in a given day here in the confines of one of India's most desired and respected workplaces:

I wake up in my hostel, the breeze blowing open my gold-flecked orange-y curtains, and the birds outside are making classically tropical chirping noises. I open those curtains and directly outside my window are palm trees and flowered plants. My room is my own, with a kickin' AC, cable t.v., a fast internet connection and 2 pink walls. Every morning I take one of the best showers imaginable in a bathroom coated in large, wine-colored tiles. Then I turn on the electric kettle and make hot chocolate, or maybe some amazing Indian tea with cream and sugar - stocked daily by housekeeping.

Speaking of housekeeping: Unless I hang the "Privacy Please" sign on the doorknob, I will come back to a room that has been swept, garbages emptied, bottled water refreshed, bed made, clothes folded, possessions put into order, toiletries placed on the counter in an army-straight line, in order of height. Not that I EVER fail to make the bed on my own ... In my defense, I tried it a few times. They still re-did it. Going back to the orderliness of all my belongings -- this is no exaggeration. The maid is OCD, that's all there is to it. Always, my things are perfectly aligned by height. Even if it doesn't make sense. I always organize my toiletries by category: hair stuff, face stuff, teeth stuff. You get the idea. But no matter how I rearrange it to fit my style, I come back to it all against the wall on the counter, tallest to shortest, intermixed groupings of products, but aesthetically pleasing, nonetheless. One of the girls in our batch had a bag of Starbursts dumped out on her coffee table, and returned to find them stacked evenly, by color and height, in a sort of cascading rainbow of ordered candy. Besides these oddities, which I actually love, the housekeepers are so kind. What I didn't initially feel comfortable with is that they will not turn their back on you, out of respect. I.e. they will not walk out of a room you are in as you normally would, walking straight through the door. Instead they turn around and face you while they back out, always smiling.

After a day of classes and modules in programming, I'll do whatever I want. My options are plenty. We've got a well-kept gym, yoga and aerobics classes every day, a pool, climbing wall, badminton, squash, tennis, basketball and volleyball courts, cricket/soccer/football field, and obstacle course, snooker (billiards), ping pong, a bowling alley, a movie theater, shops, bikes, snacks, a music room, bookstore, salon & spa ... and all of it fancy fresh, as this place was built in 2003. Campus is laden with fascinating building architecture, fountains, landscaping, and people. If there's one thing I could do more of, it's branch out and meet some of the locals. This is surprisingly hard to do, since most of us, especially the girls, get stared at like we're walking, talking aliens. But it's not so bad that I've got any excuse not to try.

To expound on that last point, I've got a story to share about just how much we stand out here. But that will come later. Back to the day.

Every day it rains. It usually pours, and that makes sense because it's monsoon season through November. But I just love it! Umbrellas are aplenty in every building, branded, as is everything else, with the Infosys name. The rain doesn't stop anyone from going out. Outdoor games continue without pause, and the indoor shops get just a bit more crowded. There are about 6,000 of us trainees on campus at any given time (about 90 Americans).

For dinner (and lunch and breakfast, for that matter), I can head to one of three food courts with options like Dominoes and Cafe Coffee Day (like Starbucks) and Indian food buffets. I hear we're getting a Subway soon. Or I can indulge a whopping $2-$3 and eat at The Floating Restaurant, which is a gazebo-style restaurant that, you guessed it, "floats" in a circular moat housing beautiful koi fish. Did you know they sleep at night? They just rest on the floor of their territory - it's really cute. Tonight the chefs, as per some American's request, prepared roasted chicken and beef tenderloin. That's right. BEEF. In India. And this was amazing beef, too; not tough or nasty like you might assume. The point is, we're catered to like crazy. It gets to be too much, but you can't keep someone from being hospitable.

Dinner is usually later, so afterwards I'm happy to spend some me-time back in my hostel. It gets dark early here, and the crickets are calming. I've recently taken to reading atop one of the huge marble pillars flanking our hostels, overlooking the courtyard. Often I just fall into the flow of the day, but sometimes I take special notice of the impeccably-kept green grass, swept by hand daily of any fallen leaves, or the amount of care put into making my room a welcoming home. And it's then that I realize that this place is amazing. This opportunity so unique. And I want to learn from it so much - which I know I will. I already have. But to think that there are 6 more months, maybe more ... And then there's the gaping rift between this oasis and the reality of India. You couldn't find a wider gap between the haves and the have-nots. As the days pass, I plan to get a better understanding of the latter. It may come as a surprise, but this posh living gets old real fast. Don't get me wrong - I'm grateful to have it. But there's much more life beyond this bubble.

The Three Acre Tree