Indian house husband

Death on the school run!

2010-08-07T07:54:00.002+04:30

Just when you think you have seen it all in India from the gut wrenchingly cruel to the faith revivingly sweet, something comes along and shocks you all over again.Once you have become complacent about your surroundings, something awakens you with a lightning bolt size reality check.

I have just got back from Blighty were I was constantly hearing phrases like "uncertain times ahead" and "could get worse before it gets better" and ridiculously, "more and more people living below the poverty line". I frequently have - what now sound increasingly pathetic - conversations about how hard it is to get good housekeepers and drivers!

Nobody is truly living below the poverty line in the UK. they may be according to some W.H.O. statistic but in reality we see nothing like the poverty in Blighty anywhere that you can't see on every street corner in one of India's most cosmopolitan cities.

The fact that our drivers don't speak perfect English and our housekeeper doesn't dust the tops of the door frames without being prompted frankly make us look moronic.

Pretty much everybody I know in the world are incredibly lucky on a grand scale. We all have our ups and downs but on the whole we live a privileged and lucky life. Even though here our kids witness poverty and suffering on a daily basis, they don't have to live in it. Children back in Blighty may learn a bit about it in school and see horrors and suffering on the TV but they never have to see it in the flesh.

Imagine what a shock it was then at 2.30 yesterday afternoon on the school run on a beautiful sunny afternoon on Delhi's equivalent of the North Circular to come across two dead bodies on the side of the road!

When I say two dead bodies, one was undoubtedly dead, a man of indistinguishable age due to his severe malnutrition. The other, a young boy, clearly was breathing his last laying in a crumpled heap covered in flies.With the traffic stopped due to a jam up ahead we were parked right next to them. It was the most astonishing thing to witness as people just walked passed them as if they were not there. As if they see this thing all the time. The truth is, they probably do.

They looked like the sort of images we see on the evening news from Rawanda or a famine ridden African country, but here we were in an upmarket suburb of Delhi. With people crossing the road to avoid them and covering their mouths and noses with their handkerchiefs eventually, two young guys stopped and got out their mobile phones.

Who they would have called I don't know because there is no ambulance service here. Not everyone gets a level of care to sustain their health and dignity that we get just by the luck of being born in to great privilege. Whatever happened to them they were removed because several hours later I had to drive past again. I would bet though that they lay there for a good few hours first.

Who these two people were or how they got to be in that situation I will obviously never know. I do know though that The sight of the man laying there with head tilted back and eyes and mouth wide open twisted in agony will live with me forever. It is a sight people should not accept in a civilised society and one I just hope Raffi never got a good enough look at to comprehend (I made him keep his eyes closed).

I felt completely useless. In Blighty, you know you will most likely live your whole life and never have to witness a dead body. If you did come across one in the streets though you would know exactly what to do. Here, I was hamstrung and helpless with no idea what to do. I hope I never have to witness this again but I will make it my priority to find out what I can do to help so if -God forbid- it happens again I will be equipped.

I do know that next time I am bemoaning the fact that my housekeeper forgot to get milk or I hear someone moaning about what a mess the UK is in and that the NHS doesn't work, I shall think of that face and thank my lucky stars.

A beautiful place to be alive.

2010-05-17T12:25:00.009+04:30

It has been quite a while since my last blog and this has been for two reasons. The first is that Indianhousehusband became incredibly busy with several different projects and the second one was probably a lack of inspiration. I had become a bit blase about my surroundings as we all do eventually. Now I am back from a Blighty trip and seeing things with a new set of eyes and a renewed vigour. Sometimes a holiday is all it takes to really appreciate what is going on around you.

Over a year now in Delhi! One year, I can't believe it has gone so fast. So much has happened that I hardly know where to begin. I have had the lows of finding out about my mum and cousins cancer and the death's of far too many friends. To the highs of seeing my mum and dad here fit and well and visiting the mountains of Kashmir. Mixed into all this has been gallons of tears and sweat, tons of frustration and anger but most of all lots of truly fantastic times and laughter.

After 6 weeks back in Blighty it is a real pleasure to be home. Spending time with friends and family is and was great and the welcome we got from both sets of parents was amazing but nothing can replace the comfort of home and I was ready for my return.

After stepping off the plane at Delhi, the old familiar smells hit you, as does the sweat but these are great sensations, home sensations, the sort of sensations you stop noticing until you leave and come back.

Just the car journey from the airport to our house was enough to bring a big smile to my face.The usual Delhi cliche's all look brand new and hilarious again. The traffic didn't matter, nor did the heat or the pollution because everyone seemed to be smiling. It is the first thing I noticed. I think one of my earliest blogs mentioned that a broad smile was always returned and it is something that you come to take for granted but after 6 weeks back in Blighty it comes as a welcome relief.

I was greeted at the local milk stand like a returning war hero. Our local grocery store owner Mr Merry wanted to hug me and the fruit and veg stall guy gave me a pineapple! The boys and I walked to the market in the rain and reacquainted ourselves with all the security guards in Shanti Niketan, who still seem to find us a constant source of fascination. One pointed out to me that it was raining which though unnecessary and completely stating the obvious, was just wonderful. We were all soaked through and the boy's were jumping around in the puddles but someone still felt they should perhaps point it out in case we had missed it!

A friend of ours Toby, said to me recently.

"India. It's just a beautiful place to be alive"

I agreed with him at the time but my brief absence has made me really feel it again.

It is so fantastic to be home!

Delhi's missing piece

2010-04-14T07:16:00.004+04:30

Just lifted the following passage from a blog I did in July last year:

www.Indiansingledad.com!
It is has been a strange week for the artist formerly known as Indanhousehusband. The loss of the better half has been a strange experience. It started out with a horrible foreboding, yet has actually been a good confidence booster. There was a huge amount of anxiety that very quickly slipped away on 'A's' departure.

Roll on ten months and again I have become Indiansingledad. 'A' has returned back to Blighty for ten days on business and the contrast in emotion couldn't be more different to back in July.

I think I massively down played the sheer terror I felt the last time I was left 'home alone'. I remember the first day 'A' was gone thinking to myself; how am I going to get through five nights completely alone? Five nights!! That should have been a holiday, not a chore, but it was really tough. I felt completely exposed and slightly resentful. It was the first time and probably the only one through this whole experience were I genuinely felt emasculated. It should be me flying back on business and earning the rupees while 'A' looks after the boys and wonders how she will fill the days, but it was me. I got my head down and got on with it but couldn't wait for the moment 'A' returned and when she did, there was no feeling of pride that I had coped and everything was OK. It was just pure relief!

Move on to now and 'A' has been gone a week tomorrow and if truth be known it feels like a day! It is now much harder for her to be leaving the boys than for me to be on my own with them.I think that is a sign of how much I have changed and learned throughout this time. Nothing worries me about the boy's now, my relationship with them is incredibly different to back in July. I don't have to think too much or pre plan anything with them, everything just kind of happens naturally. I feel more skilled and more capable as a Dad than I ever did before becoming the house husband and that is something I will always be thankful for.

The real problem this time has been that I have missed my wife for selfish reasons. Not like before were 'A' was the scaffolding that held the family together, I can do that now and don't need that support. I miss her because Delhi, despite it's 16 million population feels kind of empty without her.

Every day here we see something that astounds us and that 'something' is what we share with each other. It is the little things that annoy other people that we love that make it 'our India' and our home. We both have 'love India days' were our love for the country gets cranked up another notch. We often speak during the day and 'A' will say "Having a huge love India day today" and I will feel the same. Unfortunately till she is back I can't have a true 'love India day', I need my Indianworkingmum back to appreciate everything here, I need the population to be 16 million and one!

Hurry back 'A' we miss you loads.

Raf, Sil and 'G'

Life and Death

2010-04-06T08:13:00.009+04:30

Too many people I know are dying. I know in some Freudian way we all are, but I just wish it would slow down a bit. Four of my friends have died within the last six months, a count that is surely way out of the average. My family back in Blighty are turning into professional mourners, trudging from one funeral to the next and it is all getting pretty depressing. I daren't even answer the phone to home anymore for fear of more bad news, it is time now for it all to stop please!

Bad news is the one thing that really brings distance home here in Delhi. It is really difficult to grieve when you haven't got anyone else to share it with. At home we would have gone out for drinks and reminisced about great nights out and youthful follies but here in our little ex-pat bubble it means nothing to anyone else.

You can't tell the mums at the school gate you lost a friend yesterday, what do they care, they didn't know him. So you just get on with it. Have a quiet thought for the person on the day of the funeral and keep on keeping on. It didn't help that last week was the one year anniversary of The Bogan's death ('A' and I's best man). Barely a day has passed over that year were I haven't thought about him and the emotion is still pretty raw.

It has made me think so much more about my own mortality,something that has never bothered me at all. When life is bordering on the perfect death makes you realise how quickly it can all be taken away from you, how short our time is and how much needs to be crammed into it. The truth is that life at the moment is bordering on the perfect. We are so happy in India and I can't think of one down side to living here other than it is going so fast. Our first year is nearly up and it has gone in the blink of an eye. The weeks and months are flying away and I wish I could just put my foot on the brake and slow it all down a bit.

It only seems days since we received the terrible news about my mum. At the time my first thought was would she ever see us out here? Would she survive that long? Really terrible thoughts that now seem in the dim and distant past after she is Finally in recovery and has made it out here with Dad.

Emotion was running high when I greeted them at the airport, I think Mum had probably gone through the same thought process as me. Now she was finally here standing in our garden, the reality hit home and the tears came. It was like we had put the final big full stop at the end of what has been a terrible sentence. She didn't look great (I subsequently found out that was more to do with 5 glasses of wine and 5 brandy's on the plane and a hangover as opposed to the cancer) but I didn't care, she was here, alive and well and we were going to make the most of it.

Make the most of it we did too. We flew down to Goa and had a fabulous time on the beach. Real happy times, Seeing mum and dad with the boys - who's worship of them is at hero proportions - was something that will stay in the memory for a long time. Days were spent on the beach and round the pool and as the colour came back to mums skin it was like watching her come back to life again. Evenings were spent boozing and laughing and buying 80 quid bottles of wine because dad Miss-read the menu! Normal Conde fun stuff,living your life stuff, cramming it all in stuff and forgetting the past stuff.

I realised while I was down there that these are the times that you 'put the brake on',Slow everything down a little bit, take a step back and soak it all up. Life can seem to be running away too fast but you just have to stop and take a look around you and savour the great times.

That is my intention from now on, I am going to make the most of the time we have here in India and savour every last moment. Appreciate all the terrific times we have to come and have a ball. Bogan, Danny, Lee, Jean and Jambie would have liked that.

Danger! Decent cricket break out!

2010-03-31T10:21:00.006+04:30

Saturday morning Siri Fort sports complex and the latest venue for the monthly British school dad's massacre. I wrote this intro 3 days before the latest game but things didn't quite go to plan. In a bizarre twist of fate and please whisper it,the British school dad's are in danger of forming a reasonably solid unit!

We turned up on a beautiful summer morning to be confronted by a site rarely seen before. A proper cricket ground! No mats, no cardio-thoracic hospital windows for Jamie to smash and no strange rock formations at deep mid wicket! We were all in whites and looking rather professional, ready to take on the team Toby (Henceforth to be called Splitter)Porter had put together from Save the Children.

We won the toss and with Splitter Porter captaining the sprightly looking STC team and buoyed by an inspirational team talk from Jamie- "It's going to get hot later so feel free to swing the bat" our openers Tim "Boycs" Bond and Adam "clubber" Leetham bounded to the crease looking confident and composed.

It is at this point I usually start talking about balls that stayed low and bad bounces off the mat but today was different. After having a good look at the bowling Adam settled in nicely and started to nudge the ball around purposefully before crashing the first boundary of the day off the second ball of the second over. With Tim holding up his end well we were looking in good nick.

With Charlie uttering the never before used phrase "are we really 12 for none?" it all came home how surreal this was. Two overs gone and nobody back in the hutch, it was a record and oh how they started tumbling after that. Adam was eventually out for 8 and came back in uttering something about "The opening bowler having a beautiful length" a comment nobody questioned any further! Tim was out for 12 after facing about 3500 balls - or so it felt - there was talk at one point of sending me in to run him out but we decided against it. Why bother when he is perfectly capable of doing it himself!

At the wicket we now had Bill "flashing blade" Ballenden and Vip "the V.I.P." Kumar. taking the bit firmly between their teeth they accelerated the run rate to 11 an over against a mixed bag of STC bowling. One guy was bowling from so far behind the wicket he was virtually in the pavilion with us while another ones action would have been deemed illegal in a chucking competition! You can however only deal with what is in front of you and deal they did. Flash hit a terrific 28 before succumbing to exhaustion while The VIP hit a stunning 40 not out with the sort of classy display deserving of a better set of team mates!

Jamie "hand eye" Heywood chipped in with his usual display of perfectly timed sweet spot shots and Tony "ow me hand" smith and debutant Alex "Baby faced assassin" Luke saw the 20 overs out.

An astonishing 121 for 5 from 20 overs!Records included not being bowled out, a new high score of 40 from the VIP,not losing a wicket in the first over and having more than one box to share!

With optimism in the air but also a realisation that it was a fairly flat track, we headed out to the field sweaty but eager. A faint whiff of a victory was circulating and we were in danger of becoming a credible team. Could we take the pressure? Would we crumble under the weight of expectation? Could I bowl an over without a wide?

The ball was handed to David "Dot-Ball" Mcbean to open and he snorted down the track to deliver the first of the day. A reasonable over ensued with STC falling behind the required run rate early. The second over was elegantly bowled by Richard "Slow Fingers" Downey who had warned the umpire before starting "You have to watch very carefully for the LBW decisions because I can turn the ball both ways". Another decent over, STC restricted to 11 off the first two, we were on our way.

With some further good stuff from Flashing blade and the VIP and some real eye candy leg spin from the Baby faced assassin flanked by some less than average stuff from myself Tony and Tim we managed to restrict STC to 101 and take a small margin in to our second innings.

I am afraid the old familiar story reared it's ugly head at the startof the second innings as Richard David and myself fell for 2,1 and 1 respectively. Things were starting to wobble. While Richard Downey didn't understand how you could be run out when you are in your crease, I didn't understand why I couldn't come up with one single excuse as to why I was out other than I am pretty shit!

Our ever reliable wicket keeper Charlie "the cat" Benson strolled to the crease with broad shoulders and a steely look in his eye to accompany the VIP and between them they gradually steered the game away from STC. The cat held his end up well for a credible 10 while the VIP blasted another rapid 30 before sportingly retiring.

Baby faced assassin added an elegant 8 and Hand eye an explosive 14 so we ended with 80 setting STC a target of 101 to win from 10 overs. Pick of the STC bowling was a fantastic 4 wicket over from The Splitter. Unfortunately for him, the old playground rule of 'can't be out on your first ball' meant his figures showed just the one! Laugh? Don't be silly, we felt very sorry for him!

So to the final innings. as STC ticked along at the required rate for the first 4 overs small panic was setting in. With the thought of a cider tent at the British High Commission fete sitting in the back of our minds the focus shifted slightly to upping the over rate rather than closing out the match. Then Jamie got his game face on and bought out Dot Ball, the VIP and Slow fingers to shore the match up. After Slow Fingers showed his winning appetite with an appeal for caught behind about an inch from the umpires face - his previous delivery was an inch outside off and was given a wide and well lets just say he wasn't too happy- it all came down to the final over.

Who would be trusted to take us home to a first victory? Who was the man for the big occasion? Who could take this amount of pressure on their broad shoulders? The skipper Hand eye, tossed the ball to me with this ringing endorsement.

"Here you Gareth, they need 37 to win surely you can't cock this up"!

I didn't. We won! Oh yes the BSD have won their first game and we confidently talked about the possibility of having a reasonable side all of a sudden. the problem is, I wont be able to get in it! Bring back the bad old days I say!

Shopping parade conspiracy

2010-03-11T09:30:00.003+04:30

I think our local shop keepers have had enough of me. There seems to be some sort of conspiracy between them to keep me away. It started with balding children and ended with shrunken curtains, confused? You will be.

Let me start by telling you about our local shops. It is the sort of thing we had in the UK before Tesco's metro and Sainsbury's local destroyed it all. A parade of shops if you will. The sort of place we used to hang around after school kicking a football or trying to cop off with each other, till the fed up shop keepers threatened to tell your mum and dad and you scarpered.

We have a coffee shop;butchers;chemist;two,dry cleaners;cigarette/paan kiosk;grocery store;bank;estate agent and hardware stand.Everyone down there is very friendly and helpful, well they were until this week.

At first I couldn't work out why everyone was turning hostile but after a bit of detective work I have found that the responsibility lies squarely at the foot of The British School New Delhi. It is from there that Raffi has managed to infect himself with hair lice. Not an un-common problem one would assume. Certainly not something that would make me become a social pariah in my own neighbourhood. Unfortunately it has, and here is why.

I walked down to the chemist with Rafa and Silas to get some treatment for it and the conversation went like this:

"Hello how are you?"

"Very well, what can I do for you?"

"I am after a hair lice treatment for my children."

At this point, the girl behind the counter looked at me in utter disgust.

"Sorry sir we do not do this for children." Came her curt response.

"Are you sure?" I questioned.

"Absolutely sir, if you want a treatment for you, this is OK but for your children this is not right."

She then cast me a look that made me feel somewhere between a paedophile and a rapist and I left the shop.

A little confused I thought no more of it and went home. That afternoon the guy from the local dry cleaner came to the house with our freshly cleaned curtains. He very kindly offered to re hang them for me which he got on with until I looked and saw that they had shrunk by a good 5 inches.

I called his boss and told him he had better get up here straight away and explained what had happened. He arrived looking at me as if I was something on his shoe and I wondered if he was privy to the lice information and a little wary to enter. More to the point had he shrunk the curtains on purpose?

He looked at the curtains and told me they hadn't shrunk and that I had in fact lifted the curtain pole! I explained to him that he was lucky 'A' wasn't here and it was me he was dealing with and sent him on his way to get them stretched and on the pole by the time she got home, or his arse would be kicked all over Shanti Niketan!

After enduring 'A' screaming down the phone to the maid and I about what she was going to do if her $400 curtains were ruined I decided enough was enough and headed down to see Mr. Merry at our local store for a diet coke. I said

"Hi Mr. Merry" my normal greeting to him, to which he replied.

"My name is not Mr. Merry, that is the name of the store, my name is Ravi". He eyed the boys up with a shake of the head and look that said poor kids. I had no idea why Ravi had chosen this point after nearly a year to turn nasty and inform me of his correct name but my suspicion was still the lice.

Surely everyone is not turning nasty because my son has nits? This is India, most of them will happily pee up the wall in front of you, I they really that prissy about few nits? With the bit between my teeth and the realisation that everyone was looking at me with disgust I decided to drag the boys back into the chemist, determined to find a treatment for Rafa.

Once inside it was a scene reminiscent of the bar in American werewolf in London. All the staff came to a standstill and peered at the freaks before them. Summoning up some courage and suppressing my anger I asked again.

"Are you sure you have not treatment for hair lice for my children? It is no big deal and quite common in the UK for kids to suffer from them."

"Sorry sir them?"

"Yes them, hair lice"

"Lice?"

"Yes lice, that crawl in your hair"

With that, her frown changed to a laugh and look of relief.

"I am very sorry sir I thought you were looking for a treatment for hair loss for your son! I thought it was strange because he has very long hair and it was not nice to be treating your child for this"

With that there were laughs all round and people started relaying from shop to shop what had happened and laughter was ringing out every where.

It was then that the penny dropped. The chemist thought I was involved in some sort of sick child abuse whereby I try and make my boy's hair grow as fast and as thick as I can artificially and had told the whole parade thus making me public enemy number 1.

I left the chemist with the treatment seeing the funny side and passed Ravi on the way out who told me I could call him Mr. Merry if I choose. the dry cleaner told me the curtains would be sorted by Saturday and apologised for his mistake and the woman at the coffee shop asked if I wanted a pastry!

All was well with the world again and I was back to being, that-nice-tall-bloke-with-the-two-cute-kids and not serial-rapist-and-possible-murderer-on-the-run.

I got home and relayed the comedy of errors to 'A' who sat there looking rather sheepish. She then explained that she had just been down there herself and given the dry cleaner a massive bollocking about the curtains. The poor guy took her tirade while trying to argue his point before finally getting a word in and explaining she was at the wrong dry cleaners!

My status has no doubt once again plunged and I now no longer feel I can ever shop there again.

Thanks 'A' you are a star.

Tikli Bottom

2010-03-02T16:11:00.019+04:30

The invitation was confusing to say the least. A bit of bat and leather action at Tikli Bottom, are you in?

How could one refuse? It was only after it was explained to me that Tikli bottom was a place and the bat and leather action was actually cricket, that the penny dropped and I reluctantly agreed.

Another outing for the British School dad's and - owing to the fact that I was playing - no doubt a good hiding! The benefactors of our combined cricketing genius this time was The Baas Educational Trust(BET)school in Garatpur Baas(Haryana). A magnificent charitable organisation that offers an education to the children of three surrounding villages. Baas, Gairatpur Baas and Pandala.

The school is the brain child of our wonderful host's for the day Martin and Annie Howard who have been in India for 25 years looking after tourists at their divine home Tikli Bottom and looking after the village children's futures. Please take the time to look at the website www.tiklibottom.com and if you are feeling flush maybe donate. You will be putting your money to good use.

To the cricket. The format was "simple enough" our erstwhile organiser and team skipper Toby, told us. Two local village teams against us in a "round robin" 10 over-a-side tournament. This was all rounded off with a fairly stern "do you know anyone who has a batting helmet"? Now I love a game of cricket but the version I like involves pies, pints and gentle medium slow bowling. When mention is made of helmets I think more of American football and Ice hockey!

Re-assured by Toby that it would be fine and we are taking along our own mat to avoid the "difficult dust bowl bounce" I arrived on the day full of beans. The village teams we were playing were Baas and Pandala and were there ready for us as we arrived. The first thing I noticed was that they were generally speaking young and particularly athletic, then talk of helmets surfaced again and panic set in.

Having won the toss, we decided to field as we started the first match against Baas. The rules were simple:10 overs-a-side rotating bowlers as much as is sporting; if you hit a 6 into either the village pond or over the wall you had a minute to find it or you are out and you can't be out first ball. All very British one would think.

After the first over, bowled very well by Adam Leetham was spanked for 13 we realised they were taking it quite seriously. It all had a faint whiff of the Aamir Khan film Lagaan were the local villagers in the Victorian British Raj period took on the British gentry over the payment of an unfair tax. If the villagers won the tax would be scrapped for 3 years, I am sure you can guess the rest.

We were not trying to impose a tax, in fact we were not imposing much at all. As over after over of fair to rubbish bowling came down the Baas team found themselves piling on the runs pretty quickly and eventually finished with a fairly impressive 116.

With 12 an over required, we felt reasonably confident,completely Misplaced as it turned out! After a reasonable first wicket partnership of 29 from Adam Leetham (8) and the ever dependable Jamie Heywood (21) the collapse came! Conde and Saif both fell to snorting deliveries which destroyed their stumps and dignity before the rot was slowed a little by Toby and Puneet with 11 and 10 respectively. Tim Bond then quacked his way back to the hutch while Bill - looking distinctly like a proper player - scored 12 aided by a splendid 1 not out from debutant Tony Smith.

After the 10 overs we limped to a poor 65 - 8, the only bright spot being that we were not all out!I still can't help but think that the rapid tumble of wickets may have had something to do with the shared box. The quicker you were out the quicker you got to remove it!

Lunch couldn't come quick enough and we sat and gorged our way through Pimms, Kingfisher and pie while watching how it should be done as Baas played Pandala. With Pandala winning comfortably, we took to the field against them to avenge our earlier defeat. Buoyed by the Kingfisher coursing through our veins we started fairly promisingly, limiting them to about 12 an over!

With Tim Bond taking a breathtaking catch at point and Charlie Benson performing magnificently behind the stumps, we suddenly looked in good nick. Saif and myself popped up with 'once in a lifetime' deliveries that clattered the stumps and we suddenly fancied ourselves. It was to be a false dawn! The runs started to come thick and fast again as the crowd were dispatched time and again into the pond to retrieve huge 6's. Pandala went on to rack up 128 setting us a target of 228 to win the tournament!

We could do it, 23 an over was mathematically possible, we just needed to believe, seize the moment and slog for the boundaries. The score board looked like this:

Tony 5 bowled
Charlie 4 bowled
David 2 bowled
Tim 3 bowled

Can you see a pattern forming here?

Toby 1 bowled
Saib 1 bowled
Bill 5 run out
Pradeep 8 caught
Gareth 1 stumped
Jamie 14 caught
Adam 1 not out

All out for a fairly pathetic 44 and falling about 200 short of the necessary total. There were some bright spots and positives to take forward to the next game however.

Bill looks like a good addition to the squad and there were promising debut's from Tony (Foolishly tried to get his fingers to a massive 6 on the boundary while bouncing off a tree, that's the spirit) and David (Cracking team member, just got to promise not to bowl again).

Pandala were the eventual winners but we had a sense of moral victory as we manged to avoid any serious injury and all live to lose again another day.

Photos from top to bottom:

Martin presenting the Pandala captain with the winers cheque and a magnum of Veuve Cliquot (may have made that last bit up.

Our star player Jamie.

Toby checking the communal box is still in place!

Toby with a rare boundary.

The teams.

Anne's life admin lesson.

2010-02-23T09:11:00.003+04:30

Does anyone else remember a time when they knew their age to within a day or two? I can vividly remember a time when I asked my dad how old he was and he genuinely couldn't remember.

I was absolutely gobsmacked how could someone not know how old they were? When you are 7 years 5 months and 22 days, nothing in the world was more important than getting through the next 8 or 9 days so you were 7 and a half and here is my dad not knowing if he is 34 or 35. I remember thinking that life obviously didn't matter at that age and dad had just given up. I remember asking mum who explained that dad was under a lot of pressure (he was manager of a football club) and age wasn't really important. I asked mum how old she was and she knew instantly but told me not to tell anyone.

Here is the thing, I had a birthday yesterday and I spent most of the day genuinely confused as to whether I was 37,38 or 39! I am still not sure sat here writing now and essentially I am not really bothered. I am late 30's somewhere, that is close enough isn't it?

Now 'A' on the other hand is an entirely different kettle of fish. She is incredibly aware of her age and how it is creeping up to the point of it becoming a real anxiety problem (nothing new, her mum once told me she was like it at 16).

Why does it seem to bother the fairer sex more than us blokes? The more I thought about it the more it started to bother me. It was then that I bumped into Anne, the mother of one of Rafa's best mates at school. I asked her if she was skiving off work and she told me she had taken a day off to "do some life admin stuff".

What a great phrase "life admin" Is! I chuckled to myself all day every time I thought of Anne sat at home re-administrating her life and fell in love with the idea and have decided that starting today I am going to have a monthly "life admin" day.

This morning I pushed all work aside (oh yes people work, not one but four jobs more of which later) kicked back with a bowl of corn flakes and a brew and got stuck in. I made a list of my life priorities for the next month and they looked like this.

Make more time for the boy's. (ridiculous, I have been back working 5 weeks and mainly from home!)

Maybe see if 'A' and I can get out for dinner at some point in the next month!

Prepare for the arrival of mum and dad by listing jobs that need to be done.

Book taxi for cricket at Tikli Bottom on Saturday.

Reduce golf handicap to single figures.

It was at this point that I realised that my life is in pretty good nick! I may be late 30ish and disgusted that I have forgotten that boyish instinct of age importance but it is not because I have given up, as it probably wasn't for my dad. It is that I actually don't care and believe that it is just a number.

I have never been happier and feel that if my "life admin" list is as flippant as to include cricket and single figure handicaps I am a very lucky bloke. The sun is back out in Delhi, we are very settled, have some great friends and feel very privileged.

Life admin complete. Over to you.

Homeward bound.

2010-01-31T15:39:00.002+04:30

Oh the joy of international flights. Like picking dates from a bowl, you know it is only a matter of time before you get a bad one! No matter whom you choose to fly with and at what class, you know a stinker is only just around the corner.

I feel - with some justification - that I had got mine out of the way last year. I had the one where the last 30 minutes were spent covered in Silas’ pooh and who can forget the one where were we sat on the plane for 6 hours before taking off, with a tourettes suffering girl behind me telling anyone that would listen that all Indian’s stink, I was a fat bastard and the flight attendant, “needed to shut his mouth because everyone on the plane knows he is just a shit stabber”!

It was knowing I had got these recent horrors under my belt that I felt rather smug and pleased with myself as I headed to IGI for my latest flight back to 'Blighty'. This time it was going to be plain sailing. No baby crawling all over me, no pooh, no delays and no hastle. Just myself, Rafa and 2 Virgin Upper class seats, Nine and a half hours uninterrupted cartoons for Rafa and nine and half hours uninterrupted wine and cheese for me.

How wrong could I be?

The 4 week winter seems to have run its course in Delhi and as we headed to the airport it was shorts and sunglasses weather. Unfortunately the Delhi airport authorities opinion differed. Still believing the Indian myth that anything below 20 degrees is likely to cause hypothermia, they have the heating in the airport cranked up to 11! This, one assumes, is just to show off the fact they do actually have heating that works. When they get a chance to prove it, boy are they going to.

By the time I was through check in I was sweating spinal fluid. I looked like an extra in Ice Cold in Alice and felt a little faint. Rafa’s cheeks looked like 2 pieces of rare beef and all around me people were wilting. The fact that I was marched past the hoards of sweaty travelers to the front of the queue at emigration added to my scarlet complexion.

Safely through the proletariat, we made it to the sanctuary of the lounge. At last, a sit down in the a/c and a cold beer to re-hydrate. No such luck, the lounge was hotter than the seventh level of hell and completely packed while the beer was warm!

Due to fog and numerous cancelled flights Delhi airport was in meltdown. There were too many people, little organization and a huge amount of impatience. It was while queuing to get through security I finally blew!

I exploded! The recipients of my spleen venting were two Indian gentlemen who decided that unlike the rest of us, they were special and really didn’t have to queue. Cutting through the ropes to a position several in front of me, tipped me over the edge and turned me into Basil Fawlty.

Expletives tumbled forth in a spitting torrent of rage. ‘How dare you’, ‘who do you think you are’ and ‘you pair of ignorant rude tossers, get to the back of the queue’ were of the more printable. I was so angry I was actually shaking and more than happy to take him and his several mates on. Sensing my rage and seeing a 6’6” gorah foaming at the mouth and shaking with rage was enough to do the trick.

Tails between their legs and with a little goading from their friends who clearly didn’t want to be seen to be condoning such behaviour, they shuffled to the back of the queue. A small round of applause ensued from my fellow passengers and for a brief second I felt quite proud of myself. The peoples champion, the defender of all that is civilized and righteous, the……… father of a 4 year old who’s just completely lost the plot in front of him and now feels slightly embarrassed!

Having got my Basil out the way we headed for the plane and found that due to the lack of quality at security the Captain had ordered everyone to be searched again! Eventually we took off 2 hours late and my run of bad flights continued. When will it end? Not on the return leg that is for sure. That was spent wandering around the plane trying not to wake people up with a wide awake baby. Oh the joys of parenting!

It was all worth it in the end though. Catching up with the conde's was as much fun as ever and my super-mum now has less than a week till her treatment ends. It seems to have gone by so fast and it will be such a relief when it is finally over. My moaning about flights sometimes needs to be put into perspective I think!

Come back 'A' all is forgiven!

2010-01-18T15:31:00.003+04:30

I have had a surreal look into what my life would be like without 'A' this weekend and have to say it was not pretty! Becoming a lad for the weekend always seems quite an exciting prospect but invariably ends in tears!

Late nights, alcoholic poisoning, fast food, golf and football should be Nirvana but the reality is usually a little different.'A' left on Thursday and when I picked Rafa up from school, all was well. We decided we were going to have a lads weekend and lots of fun but within an hour rattling around the house Rafa said "I miss my mummy". I had to agree!

There was a slight whiff of 'single parent' about the whole thing. I felt like 'A' had dropped Rafa round for a weekend of McDonald's and cartoons, while she was off for the weekend with her new beau and it really disturbed me.

I had the glory of a full on lads weekend to look forward to though, so I got all negative thoughts from my head and started getting ready for the perfect lads itinerary. Friday night - boys night out. Saturday - kids party with bar followed by football on the box and another party in the evening. Sunday - Golf followed by more drinking and football.

Does it get any better? Now excited and having stopped pretending 'A' had left me I headed out on Friday and had a top night. Arriving home very late I staggered to bed anticipating a really bad hangover. I wasn't disappointed, it was teenager in its proportions but I had parties, football and drink to get through so decided to man up and bring it on.

Saturday passed with similar consequences. A full on boozy day culminating in me very nearly spewing in the back of the car of new friends who very kindly offered me a lift home! It was Sunday am at 7.30 when Rafa woke up that the full horror of my single life hit home. With head pounding and nausea welling I had an "It's a wonderful life" style moment were the spectre of some bloated alcoholic spirit, showed me the error of my ways. With golf, more booze and football still to come I doubted whether I could do it.

I am crap at being a single lad again. Long gone are the days of wonderful lost weekends spent gambling, drinking, clubbing and pulling with no consequences and no hangovers. Now the hangovers hurt but they seem even worse without 'A' around. Maybe it is just that we have had so many together over the years I got used to having her here when I was rough, more likely, I am just getting old!

I headed for golf with my tail between my legs and a belly full of Ronald McDonald's hangover elixir and managed to work it all off in the sunshine. It was a tonic, and I even managed to brave a few beers but I knew I was going back to an empty house which caused that empty feeling in the pit of the stomach to return.

From now on I think I am going to limit my laddish activities to 24 hours. Being married with kids is a good thing, it keeps you honest and on the straight and narrow. A weekend partying is just too long these days and 3 day hangovers are no fun. If you are reading this 'A' and not shacked up with a new pair of tights already, Please don't ever leave me. The only good to come of it would be McDonald's, Kingfisher and Gordon's share prices soaring.In the mean time I would give myself 6 months!

I am now de-toxing all week and jumping on the wagon, no doubt just till my return to blighty. Once there, temptation of good red wine and being reunited with my drinking partner, means I can forget everything I have just written and revel in the glory of a stinking hangover, knowing 'A' will feel the same.

See you Saturday 'A' I have missed you loads!

Cohandi!

2010-01-13T19:41:00.003+04:30

Many thanks to my old mate Steve Downing for his contribution to the beard debate. This is his Ghandi/Conde contribution. Please check out his web-site at www.mendhamcreative.com There aint nothing that boy can't do with a Mac and a load of spare time!!

To beard, or not to beard, that is the question?

2010-01-13T08:59:00.006+04:30

In these dark troubled times, I thought it was time to stop the dumbing down and start making the Indianhousehusband more highbrow. Away with the banalities of nappy changing and school runs, be gone tales of Delhi madness and drunken wives. It is time to start addressing some of the big issues currently circulating the world.

Global warming, melting polar caps, world financial meltdown, natural disasters and Sir John Chilcotts official inquiry into the Iraq invasion.I thought long and hard about discussing potential safety risks at the world cup in light of the recent horror in Angola, the assassination attempt of Captain Moussa Dadis Camara, leader of Guinea's military junta and the argument for cancelling third world debt.

All subjects that are indeed worthy of intelligent, lively debate yet paling into insignificance when the real big talking point is should I or shouldn't I have a beard?

Please feel free to vent your spleen, proffer your opinion or remain completely apathetic to the subject but please never let it be said that I am trivial!

Gis-a-job, a-can-do-dat.

2010-01-06T18:41:00.007+04:30

The Indianhousehusband is looking like he could be out of a job! As of 2010, I am under notice that my position is going to be made redundant and I am seeking gameful employment as of today.

It is about time. I am afraid my 'maternity leave' has run its course and I am ready to start taxing my brain again in ways other than school runs and nappy changes. I am sharpening my cv and dusting down the suit ready to do battle with the other one hundred million in India looking for work!

With Rafa in school and Silas starting nursery I feel now is a good time to get back in the market and work out what I am going to do for the rest of my life. I have the full backing of 'A' who bought me a lovely alarm clock for Xmas. When I asked why I need an alarm clock she replied "Because you are getting a job in the new year", always the last to know in this house!

2009 was such a peculiar year for me. I had the ying: excitement and joy of moving to Delhi and spending some time with my beautiful boys. Mixed with the yang: The terrible news of my mums cancer. Fortunately, mum is on the mend and ready to come out and visit us and we can forget all about the bad times of 09 and get ready for a great 2010.

Christmas was terrific,despite missing family and friends we had a great day. Christmas eve was spent on a crazy dash around Delhi's various markets looking for sprouts! We eventually found them which gave us good reason to get the hoarded imported wine open and start the celebrations. After finally opening the last presents at about 7pm we got the kids to bed before collapsing ourselves not long after in a state of exhaustion.

On the 29th we flew down to Kovalam for some much needed r&r. We met up with friends of ours Sophia (or on-fire as she was christened by Rafa) and Peter. A better pair we couldn't have spent time with. While Peter and I got on with some serious Kingfisher annihilation the girls theorised about every single couple we saw and discussed what they would be buying in M&S food hall if they were at home! Once they had got their head's around the fact they couldn't get pain-au-chocolat and skinny latte's every morning things progressed quite nicely.

What is it with women? Why do they have to have a theory on people they have never met?

While sipping the first cold Kingfisher of the day my peace was constantly interrupted with "Definitely second marriage" or "I can't work those lot out at all" or "Must be a Thai bride job surely". I pointed out to 'A' that there was a good chance people were looking at us and saying "Can't work out what that skinny bird is doing with the hairy beer bellied bloke" but she shrugged it off with a lowering of the chin, a raising of the eyebrows and a vigorous shake of the head,(think Brucie having an asthma attack)! I carried on sipping my beer and reading my book only to be told 5 minutes later I am not as much fun as Sophia.

Apparently, when 'A' pulls the 'Brucie' face it means: don't look now but behind us is something you need to look at. Amanda knows not to actually say the words "Don't look now but...." because I just look immediately, thus spoiling her fun (I seem to remember an incident in Vietnam involving Swedish blonde twenty something girls kissing behind me, come on, who wouldn't look?). It spoils her fun because it is much better if I don't look. Miss it and she can spend the next 2 hours telling me she can't believe I missed it!

Only women understand the subtle eye and head movements used in bars and restaurants to point out something to be looked at surreptitiously, so when Sophia wasn't there I was useless,how was I supposed to join in? I have testicles!

I am useless at gossip, I have no ability to guess a woman's age by the bikini she wears or tell if someone is a single parent by what their child is wearing!More to the point I have no interest. I asked 'A' if I was really so boring to talk to that it was more fun guessing where random strangers come from and if they were on honeymoon and she replied without a seconds hesitation: Yes!

Am I alone here, or do other men find they spend large chunks of their holiday repeating themselves continually because their wife is actually straining every fibre of her body to hear what the German couple behind are talking about? It didn't help that she had an ear full of water and was completely mutton for 5 days and insisted on sitting with her good ear to the tables around us rather than towards me.

Despite all this it was a terrific way to spend new year, Rafa learnt how to surf, 'A' got a tan (thank the lord) and Silas ate his own body weight in sand. I just basked in the glow of my terrific family for a week and realised just how lucky we are. My mission now before next holiday is to learn the subtle art of female speculation on others and perfect my 'Brucie', obviously in-between trying to get a job.

Help!

Like cricket but different.

2010-01-06T12:23:00.012+04:30

While London was snowed in the week before Christmas, I was invited to play a game of cricket. A week before Christmas and playing cricket? It couldn't have felt more wrong yet Toby and Jamie the co-organisers managed to rally up "eighteen once a decade'rs and 4 virtual professionals" for a game of 20/20 in aid of Save the Children and Child In Need Institute(CINI) at the British school in Delhi.

Being the altruistic fella that I am, I accepted with gusto and immediately began to talk up my ability. It was after being dispatched to Sarogini Nagar market several times to pick up cricket whites, I realised my inclusion had more to do with having time on my hands than genuine cricketing ability!

With temperatures in the high 20's and the feel of a summers day adding to the strangeness of it all, we gathered and in true tradition of the playground Toby and Jamie were elected as team captains and had one pick each until the unfortunate last man standing. His name will be protected to hide his shame but he was close to manning the bouncy castle for the day!

The CINI team (Jamie's) won the toss and elected to bat first a decision that looked to have backfired as they were quickly reduced to 18-4. With talk in the field being of "early lunch and a few beers" and "possibly letting them bat twice,maybe 3 times" confidence was high. Unfortunately the confidence was Misplaced!

A partnership between Glen and Nigel was beautifully crafted to take the score to 84-4 before compulsory retirement (at 30) was enforced. With Fergus dispatched back to the pavilion (bouncy castle) considerably quicker than the ball that got him out, confidence was once again high in the Save the Children camp. Then came Jamie.

Now Jamie had claimed to be "reasonably handy with the bat", but a long time ago. As it turned out, he was more than "a bit handy". Having taken out the windows of a neighbouring hospital not to mention the windows of several cars innocently driving along the adjacent road with mighty sixes, he was forced to retire on thirty for health and safety reasons. He was allowed back in after the fall of the last three wickets (Trevor and James respectively making double figures) to add a further 11 and help his team to a tally of 175.

The only incredible thing from a bowling point of view -apart from Tom Le Quesne taking 3 wickets in one over to polish off the tail- was that we nearly outscored Jamie in extras! With Toby considering replacing me for the bouncy castle mid way through my second over things were at a real low and it was eventually only the umpires generosity that kept the score below 200!

The less said about the batting from Toby's Save the Children team the better. All out for a paltry 86, the second law of the playground was invoked and we all batted again to get through the twenty overs, reaching a rather pathetic 146. Credit through gritted teeth to Jon who bowled a spell of devastating three-bounce-daisy cutters to remove our top order - including me for the days only duck - and a spell of 3-0-1-11 from Richard 'me a swan's wily leg spin.

Worth a mention was a quite brilliant reverse sweep for 4 from Toby (who also ended with a credible 32 from 2 innings and produced a cat like performance behind the stumps),a dashing 14 from Adam Leetham and knocks of nineteen from Gary and sixteen from Jono creeping into the realms of respectable. Run outs were too many to mention as we collectively realised getting between the wicket wasn't as easy as it was at school and that though great fun, bi-monthly would appear to be plenty!

Revenge will be sweet if the re-match happens in February, most of us may well have recovered by then.

Satan claus,Sally Army and cough drops!

2009-12-17T09:08:00.001+04:30

The festive season is now fast approaching and I have to admit it feels very strange. Without the usual mayhem that ensues at this time of year in 'Blighty' it just feels like any other week. When I say mayhem, what I actually mean is I haven't spent the last week panicking that I have not done any shopping and am not permanently hungover! With no work parties to attend and most friends out of town, the build up has been quite sedate and my liver is thanking me for it.

It is quite liberating not being bombarded with Xmas adverts on the television and radio.Shopping is a joy because there are not five hundred thousand blokes doing exactly what I usually do - hitting Prada and Gucci on Xmas eve in a panic - and the streets are not crowded with gangs of boozed up Santa's! I have finished all my shopping and feel very organised and in control, yet something just doesn't feel right.

It might be that I read yesterday that Blighty is experiencing a cold snap and temperatures will go as low as -6 degrees. It is still pretty warm here something we don't associate with Xmas and I am playing cricket on Saturday! The Delhites however, are at least trying to do their bit to help me find my festive cheer and take me closer to home. Most of them are wrapped up like a Himalayan mountain rescue team to try and combat the morning low of about 15degs!

It is the funniest thing when I go for milk in the morning in shorts and a tee and pass the security guards huddled around fires with hats, scarves and gloves, even the dogs are now wearing coats! I have no idea why, yesterday the temperature was 26 degs!

It is not just the lack of liver damage,cold and shopping that is missing though.Nor the fact we have a tree we have christened Kate (after miss Moss due to it looking slightly anorexic). This will be the first time that 'A' and I have spent Xmas away from our families. My "supermum" had her last chemo this week and has the energy of a teenager! She would be the first to admit that she can be a tad "humbug" about all things Xmas but this year she has had a road-to-Damascus-Scrooge-like-turnaround and is as excited as a dog in a butchers shop! Xmas will be a very special one this year in The Conde house and we will be drinking a huge toast to mum's continuing good health.

"A"'s family need no excuse to celebrate Xmas. when it comes to excitement and dedication to the cause, they can make The Griswald family look like Jehova's witnesses. It is not uncommon for Christmas dinner at their house to last 4 days. A family camped out at the table refusing to admit that the day is actually over! They have stocking presents; Santa presents;tree presents;table stocking presents and afternoon tree presents! No exaggeration! I have been with 'A' for 12 years and still have no idea how it all works!

It does though and Xmas with the Conde's and the Light's is a yearly highlight that will be sorely missed. We will though be doing our best to recreate some of the magic for our boy's and with the help of Bob Dylan's 'Christmas in the heart' CD on a permanent loop we are slowly but surely getting there. We even had the 'Sally bash' turn up last night to serenade us with carols. Armed with a lot of spirit, tambourines, a Bontempi keyboard and the scariest Santa I have ever seen, they sang a few fave's while Raffi cowered in the corner hiding his eyes from "Satan Claus"!

It was all very festive in an Indian kind of way. In an attempt to make up for scaring a 4 year old and a "thirtysomething" (I have been barred from stating my age in public as 'A' said that it would make it easier for people to guess her age and she is still not admitting to a day over 30) man to death, Satan Claus gave us a bag of sweets. All very nice and Rafa was just beginning to warm to him when we realised that they were in fact cough sweets!

As I said all very Indian, this is how I feel Xmas will be this year. A little slice of 'Blighty' with an Indian twist, our only problem now is finding sprouts, feel free to send out an emergency food parcel for us. I will gladly swap them for a kilo of Honitus honey and ginger cough drops!

In the mean time,Merry Xmas to all and thanks for reading, over 2000 hits now!! Mulled wine anyone?

Indian house husband: Broken hearts

2009-12-10T10:25:00.000+04:30

Indian house husband: Broken heartshttp://www.marieclaire.co.uk/community/blog/433798/a-soul-mot-in-365-days.html

Broken hearts

2009-12-10T08:49:00.004+04:30

I read Lucy Robinson's blog in Marie Claire yesterday and felt it needed to be read by as many people as possible because it is quite brilliant.Click on the link to view.

The pain just drips off the page and as I was reading it I was almost in shock, as I realised that a heart could be broken so badly. After taking a while to digest it and reading it again a few times, my focus turned from pity for Lucy to intrigue at why break ups seem to hurt women so much more than men.

It was at this point that I stopped and thought whooooooo there! This is a nest of vipers you really don't want to disturb, be sensible, leave it there and walk away.Unfortunately the stubborn part of me kept wandering back for another dig around and I started to go back through the hazy mists of time to my own relationship break ups and those of my friends, to see if I could recall anyone hurting that badly.

Now I have had more than my fair share of break ups over the years, but I don't ever remember spending week after week crying and contemplating suicide. More to the point, I never heard of an ex of mine being in a bad way either. Is it just me, am I completely shallow? Was I actually such a crap boyfriend that nobody ever felt bothered enough to be upset by me finishing things?

One of my relationship's ended with me being beat up with a saucepan! After I had dropped the bomb shell that I wanted to end it, she stormed off to the kitchen to get a pan to scoop up my gold-fish because "I am taking my f****** gold-fish with me because it is my f****** gold-fish and not your f****** gold-fish, I f****** bought it for you and I f****** hate you and hope you die" at which point I started laughing. Big mistake. She proceeded to pound me with it before going outside and "keying" my car. I still have a phobia for all things Prestige to this day.Not long after she was in the tabloids linked to a member of the royal family so she clearly didn't have too many problems getting over me.

I remember one particular break up that I was slightly cut up about and I my well have spent a week moping in my bedroom, listening to Leonard Cohen. Other than that though I am at a loss to remember any lasting upset. There was always something else to do like playing football, drinking with mates, playing football and drinking with mates, playing football and ...... hang on, was it really that simple? Is that all it took to get over a break up?

While women spend weeks puzzling where it went wrong and what they could have done different, do men really just play or watch football and drink with their mates.Is that our only defence mechanism? Millions of years of evolution and the best we can come up with is football and beer.

Are we really that basic and shallow? Are we all the same? Do any men go in to a year long slump? Not that I recall. I remember Marc breaking up with Barbara when we were 15 and taking to his bed for a week because "We had a pregnancy scare and I really thought it had bought us together as a couple, but when she found out the test was negative she dumped me". He actually missed a Friday night disco at North Park over that, the pain was so acute. He eventually got up because "I could smell bacon and it was Villa Man U. on the telly"

I had another mate Dave who split up with Tor after seven years together at the age of 23. She was younger and "felt she was too young to be settled down" and as I recall, it hit Dave pretty hard. He spent about a month listening to tape recordings of Northants Fm's Sunday night Cuddle-on-the-couch-show and played crap for our football team at the time, but before you knew it was back drinking snake-bite and black propping up the bar at Rockefeller's looking for a new girl!

At the same time, I knew some girl's who were completely devastated and "would never be the same again" and "will never be able to love again" because of break ups. One girl I knew actually attempted an overdose while another eventually got married but still always kept a picture of my mate (who dumped her) in her purse and apparently does to this day!

Why do women seem to suffer so badly with break ups? One female friend theorises that men always "hold a bit back while women put their everything in to relationships" thus leaving themselves more vulnerable when things go wrong.I don't believe this for a minute. I think I have always given my all to relationships but sometimes they just don't work out. When that time comes you have to make a practical decision about what you are going to do. Maybe that is it, maybe men can compartmentalise things practically while women do it emotionally.

I don't know all the answers but I am so glad I have never spent a year feeling like Lucy - and quite a few of her readers who have tagged on comments. I really hope as well that I have never made anyone feel that way but if I have I am really sorry. Nobody should ever have to suffer the sort of pain Lucy describes but that, and her on-going search for a decent bloke through Internet dating make for fantastic reading.

SO thanks Lucy, not only for providing thought provoking and genuinely touching blogging but for also reminding me how lucky I am to have found 'A'. If she was to ever get fed up of my general idiocy and call it a day I may well be feeling your pain!

http://www.marieclaire.co.uk/community/blog/433798/a-soul-mot-in-365-days.html

Missing decade

2009-12-02T12:00:00.007+04:30

I have just been back to "Blighty" and had a huge trip down memory lane. The North End Lads (NEL) were reunited for the first time in too long and I got chance to spend some time with my fantastic mum and dad. They are doing well and my mum is putting up a Stirling fight against her cancer. Dad is right along side her and helping her every step of the way, when he is not tripping over dishwasher doors left open by me! Apart from that though, there seemed to be a general feeling of doom and gloom about the place.

I had forgoten how bleak the British autumn could be. It seemed to be raining from the time I landed to the time I left and good news was far from the front pages. I think it was my brief trip back to Clapham though that has brought on a strange longing for the "noughties". Not usually one for nostalgia - unlike 'A' who loves it but thinks it isn't what it used to be! - I have found myself drifting back misty eyed to happy times and wondering where it all went?

Has anyone seen the noughties? Has anyone else lost them? I have spent the morning looking for them but can't find them anywhere! We are just a few short weeks from a new decade and this one seems to have passed by while I was busy doing something else.

I know having thought about it at length this morning that I have crammed a lot in, but still refuse to believe it was actually 10 years long. In that time I got married;had two children;travelled 40000km around India;lived in a foreign country;lived in eight properties;had four jobs;visited 11 countries;had seven friends, two uncles and a grandma all die yet it seems to have gone in the blink of an eye! Nearly 15% of my three score and ten gone, consigned to history,the annals of time never to be returned.

Surely it can't be more than 3 years since we all sat around waiting for planes to drop out of the sky and computers' the world over to crash, causing catastrophe on a global scale? No more than 3 years since we were deciding whether to pay out huge sums for a ticket to a super-club, or "getting away from it all with a few friends to a cottage in Norfolk/Devon/Cornwall"(delete as applicable)? No more than 3 years since we really did "PARTY LIKE IT'S 1999"!? I won't accept it has gone, I feel cheated and want it back now. If anyone finds it please hand it in to the local police station.

The Noughties were always going to be fantastic. All us thirty-somethings now, who were late twenty's then and in our prime knew it was going to be a great time in our lives. Something special was in the air, our J.F.K.(Tony) was in power, Oasis were number one and everything seemed possible. Here on the cusp of the next decade that same air has rotted, our Nixon (Brown) is in power,Bob the builder is number one and that "anything is possible" feeling seems to have been replaced with dread!

I didn't feel any remorse - apart from missing family - on my departure back to Delhi. I really feel that this decade is going to be even better than the last despite the massive debt the Government has saddled us with and despite the fact there seems to be little optimism about.

It is so much healthier to look forward to the amazing times ahead than the amazing times behind. I don't know what the "teenies" will have in store for us but I know they will be great. While I am with 'A' and the boy's they always are, so if you do find the "noughties" down the back of the settee, or in the gap between the driving seat and the hand-brake in the car, just leave them there. I don't actually want them back, I am marching on to the best ten years of my life!

Perspective!

2009-11-12T21:59:00.002+04:30

I had a question to answer while registering Silas last week at nursery that asked the occupation of the father. I paused for a second and felt ashamed for a brief moment that I could put nothing, I also thought about lying! What would Silas say if he could talk? What does Rafa say at school when people ask what his daddy does for a job? Why do I feel slightly ashamed that my answer had to be house husband? I thought I was over all this but still it rears its ugly head.

I would love to do this for the rest of my life and find the thought of going back to work really tough. I love this time with my children and wife so why do I feel so guilty about it all? Every male I know is so jealous of my situation and yet I feel I may be starting to take it for granted. It also caused me to take a bit of a dip for the first time,feel a bit sorry for myself and make me question if we are doing the right thing - for the first time - for me.

It has made me seriously question the little microcosm of expatsville life we live in - and my role in it - for the first time. The little things that up to now have not bothered me are suddenly starting to grind. Small things like traffic and other things you have no control over, like the fact that you have to get people out five or six times to do the same job they should have done right the first time suddenly seem really important but I have had some sobering home truths to snap me out of it.

An old friend Danny is currently in a hospice for his last few days aping what recently happened to my best man and mate Matt Saunders and as most readers know my mum is currently battling cancer. On top of this I have my mother and father in law out here who have had a monumental amount of hurt to deal with over the last year, the least of which is losing their daughter and grandchildren to another continent.

I look at the way they are all dealing with their respective problems with nothing but admiration and realise my lot is pretty good! My mum is a complete inspiration, she has never put any pressure or guilt on to us here and has fought her cancer with a dignity and bravery which is breathtaking. Every step of the way she has been helped by my dad who always has and always will be my hero and my sister who has a huge amount of daily pressure of her own.

My mother and father in law are probably the most decent people I have ever met and really have no right to have gone through what they have recently along with my beautiful sister in law and yet still they are smiling and showing a stiff upper lip above and beyond the call of duty.

I always get a bit introspective and low when I am facing a trip back to blighty. I don't know for definite why but can't help but feel it might be the fact that I will be back in the Conde family bossom and not want to leave again. Open fires in Autumn, good red wine, great company and roast beef are something I am really looking forward to but part of me feels that here is home now and leaving it will be a wrench. Despite this, I can't wait to see my mum, dad and sister and tell them how much I love them and how proud I am to call them my family.

More to the point, the in laws being here and seeing their hurt and knowing the brave battle my family is putting up at home against the bastard that is cancer is helping me to realise what a great life I actually have.

It is time to "man up", see that I am living the proverbial "Reilly" life and get on with it. Dan, ma,pa,Pickle,Bomes,Peter and Brenda, you are an inspiration and I am truly the luckiest man alive. Thank you.

Dead dogs and Englishmen.

2009-11-11T06:47:00.013+04:30

The gallery was silent, the players poised, caddies rummaged through bags and ball spotters eagerly awaited their prey. On the tee representing Great Britain in the first of the singles, Sanjeev Jagtiani closely followed by Lindsay Onton, Seelan Moodley and Tomi vuorenmma. Names not sound familiar? No Poulter, Westwood and Garcia here and the American team was shorn of Woods,Michelson and Daley represented instead by Ammerman, Mungjitfamman,Nam,Ahn and Radzus! Confused? You will be.

The British singles I named above are: American,Australian,South African and Swedish respectively! They are part of the British Golf Society (BGS) "Ryder Cup" team that comprised seven Brits, two yanks, two Aussies, two Indians, one Saffer a Swede and an Italian! An eclectic mix competing in the 55th annual "Ryder cup" against the American Golf Association (AGA). This is a tournament that was first contested in 1954 between The American High commission of New Delhi and their British counterparts and morphed slightly over the years to encompass ex-pats of all nationalities living in and around New Delhi.

Golden Greens Golf Club in Gurgaon Harayana was the venue for the contest,with the respective captains Robert Lowe (BGS) and David Ammerman (AGA) calling for a more friendly encounter this year after the last two having a "war on the shore" feel to them. The BGS seemed to be heading into the contest as favourites as the AGA were apparently scratching around for players. They managed to get a side out for match day but with some slightly questionable handicaps which added to the competitive edge and feeling of gamesmanship rearing it's head!

The teams congregated on match day for a briefing on the rules and format and it was here that the gamesmanship was cranked up a notch. The AGA as hosts for the day were responsible for getting t-shirts for both sides but only managed to get their own sorted out. Their reason for this was the sort of thing you could imagine happening in the actual Ryder Cup and therefore completely excusable, imagine a conversation something like this:

2010 Ryder Cup captains meeting first morning:

Colin Montgomerie: Morning Corey

Corey pavin: Hey big Monty how you doing?

CM: Not bad thanks, I hear you have had a few problems getting a team together this year?

CP: Yeah I won't lie it has been a pain in the ass but I have got there in the end. Tiger got pulled back home due to the recession, Phil has been relocated to Hong Kong recently and Boo has split up with the Mrs and had to move back home.We got a few players at the last minute and I won't lie Col their handicaps could be a bit iffy!

cm: Don't worry about it Corey it is more important we play the game and in the right spirit as well. Have you got our team shirts as some of the guys are keen to get out on the range?

cp: Ah yes t-shirts, we were going to sort them out right?

cm: yes

cp: Yeah well,er slight problem there as we never actually managed to get yours done.

cm: Why not Corey? You all have your new matching shirts on with beautifully embroidered logo, where are ours?

cp: Well you see it was kinda funny but the place we went to get them seemed to have a few problems after they did ours

cm: Problems, what sort of problems Corey?

cp: Well it seems that there embroidery machine broke down and it was too late in the day to get them done elsewhere. Well when I say embroidery machine broke down what I actually mean is the factory got busted for using child labour and in the raid everything in the factory was seized including your shirts!

cm: Oh well never mind, we will play in skins.

cp: Good man Col, knew you would understand.

The BGS never actually played in skins - much to my disappointment, the factory was raided for breaking child labour laws though and the captain took it all with admirable good grace. Very similar to how you would imagine Monty to be!

The BGS captain Rob Lowe, is not the Hollywood heartthrob and founding brat pack member (though very similar in physique and equally handsome) but an Essex boy involved in international shipping. He is also one of the better golfers playing off a very respectable 11 handicap and one of the BGS "bankers" for a point. Unfortunately on the day he was resoundingly beaten by the aforementioned Kitisak Mungjitfamman a name a lot easier to type than say!

The reasons for the skipper getting beaten were many, here are a selection of them:

"I played like a bit of a tosser"

"I spent more time in the bush than Ray Mears"

" My driver didn't function"

"My driver ran over a pair of dogs on the way to the game"

In the last quote, the driver mentioned has nothing to do with a golf club at all but is Rob's chaufer. On the way in to the golf club he inadvertently ran over a couple of strays which is not a pleasant experience at the best of times but becomes ten times worse when the local villagers all come out and claim they are their pets! Rob was in a nasty situation where he had a straight choice between a large amount of compensation or a good kicking. Not surprisingly he chose to make a donation and try and get some treatment for the dog's and thus had other things on his mind on the first tee!

He was by no means alone in defeat though and several members of the BGS had an equally good reason - note the emphasis on reason as opposed to excuse - for defeat, another piece of gamesmanship from the AGA!

This final and despicable under-hand tactic was revealed in the pre match address when it was announced by the American captain that the free bar at the party in the evening would be closing at 9pm! A more cutting blow could not have been delivered, a dagger to the heart of the hardened drinkers of the BGS. A blow John "tiger" Tilley and David "kingfisher" Taylor never really recovered from, both losing their respective four balls through lack of concentration and huge disappointment. David was heard to grumble through gritted teeth on the 11th tee while 1 down:

"It's ridiculous, don't they know we don't even start drinking till 9pm usually"?

While they were busy going 2 down!

The four balls were undoubtedly the Achilles heal in the BGS team with the only positive score being a win from Michael Archdeacon (AUS) and Andrew Horne(GBR) proving that there really is no bitter taste left after that Ashes win!

Point scorers in the singles included Sanjeev Jagtiani, an American flown in at great expense from Mumbai,Seelan Moodley a South African driven in from Vasant Vihar, Tomi Vuorenmma from Sweeden and Richard Downey from Enland,a great performance from the Scouse media mogul beating a Korean 10 handicapper. Richard was six up at the turn but his game fell apart due to a par blitz from his opponent and the distraction of worrying what he was going to do after 9pm! He eventually won on the 18th with a birdie and this wasn't to be Richard's only victory of the day, he also won most pissed person of the evening narrowly beating my wife 'A' into second place.

The day culminated in a Mongolian bar-be-que, a tray of tequila slammers from David Briskman (no doubt helping Rich and 'A' on their way),free beer and wine and the trophy presentation and speaches at the American ACSA club which was likened to: "An ex-eastern bloc detention centre" by a BGS member that wanted to remain strictly "off the record". For the record, the USA recorded a seven and a half, four and a half victory to take the trophy for the first time in 2 years

Next year could be interesting as numbers on both sides are dwindling and the chance of both teams playing in "skins" is a very real possibility! Till then, congratulations to the AGA and well drunk to the BGS!

As a small foot note I just wanted to say hi to the four very hungover Glaswegian Indians in the club house. Unfortunately, though showing a massive amount of potential - not necessarily in golf but in the fact they were wearing sunglasses in doors at 10am - they were just passing through and couldn't become BGS members. They were golfing their way from Delhi to the Punjab doing their "Kunta Kinte thing" and obviously doing some pretty impressive drinking on the way. I hope the trip was a success and if you ever move back fellas, please look us up, fresh blood is always welcome!

Pictured top left: The elegance of Richard Downey
top right: Damn that pesky 9pm curfew, David Taylor
bottom left: Richard Downey,Rajesh Bakshi and Sanjeev Jagtiani.

I wanna wake up this old city that always sleeps.

2009-11-05T07:28:00.013+04:30

The Commonwealth games are fast approaching here in Delhi, they are in fact now less than a year away. The chief officer for the games Sheila Dikshit - I swear it is true - has promised to deliver an epic games with state of the art facilities for both competitor's and spectators.

I don't doubt what she says but they really need to get a move on! The city at the moment is like one huge building site. The redevelopment that comes along with the games is going to be a huge bonus for this amazing city, with new roads and flyovers springing up and a metro system the envy of anywhere providing a lasting legacy of the games. It should also hopefully wake the government and the people from it's slumber and get them to start taking part in sport and particularly athletics.

The Delhites and Indian's in general can be a little bit - to put it politely - lethargic! The nations favourite pass time would appear to be sleeping and 'just enough' would appear to be good enough for them. Most of the ex-pats I speak to say the most frustrating thing is the working standards of the Indian people. The work ethic is there but the attitude seems to be near enough is good enough and evidence of this can be found all over Delhi.

It is a constant source of amazement to me that you can drive past a flyover in the afternoon that looks like it still has months to go till completion, only to drive over it the next day. It is like someone has told them it needs to be finished by tomorrow so everyone piles in to get it finished and they do. They open the flyover on time as promised and the cars stream over and the traffic eases and everyone is happy. The problem is, at some point someone has said "sod clearing all that rubble up and fixing those crash barriers, we will do that tomorrow once it is open". Unfortunately the next day once it is open there is another flyover that needs to be opened elsewhere and everyone moves over to that and forgets about clearing up the rubble and fixing the crash barriers!

Everything has a feeling of 'half finished' about it and you have to wonder if they will ever get round to doing the other half. It seems to be an attitude that spills over in to sport with the obvious exception of cricket though it could be argued success there was only after an influx of foreign coaching and ideals. Football is growing hugely here but the money going into the sport is not increasing at the same rate and they are therefore plodding along with poor facilities, poor coaching and one would imagine by the sheer numbers, a massive amount of talent. The Indian 100mtr record is over 10.5 seconds and if you google sprinting and India it is virtually impossible to find anything related to Indian nationals. This from a country with an estimated population of 1.3 billion!

I am fascinated to know what the cause of this malaise is and more to the point, how do they as a nation snap out of it? The friends that I have made here who are Indians are in the main hugely successful,thus completely contradicting what I have been going on about in the previous paragraphs. Most of them have come from relative privilege though so have an advantage from the start but seem to agree with alot of what I say.

Everywhere you go you see people snoozing, on the side of the road, in the middle of roundabouts, on auto rick's, lorries,cars and even bikes. It is a national pass time and when I ask friends why this is they have no real answer. The most popular theory seems to be that is just a habit, something people have seen their father's and grandfather's before them doing and have just followed on. Our house keeper Indu snoozes at every possible opportunity. When she babysits she is often asleep before we are in the taxi and will always cop a few zee's in her lunch break.

I can't help but wonder what this country could achieve in sport and commerce if it got it's act together and woke up. They are leading the field in sectors like i.t. and their outsourcing capabilities are second to none. What if they were to turn these skills to sport. What if they as a nation made a decision to start doing things properly,finish jobs they started and stopped accepting 'just enough' as being good enough? Then we would see a huge change that would surely be beneficial to the people of this fabulous country.

I know exactly what needs to be done to wake them from their slumber and change the decades of indifference and apathy. A blueprint for the the children of India that they can follow to make them a super-power in sport and world commerce. Give them pride in what they are doing and the desire to get things finished.

I would type it out now but really feel I should sleep on it!

Fashion, my new passion!

2009-10-29T07:07:00.013+04:30

I have just got back from my first fashion show. I say first fashion show, what I actually mean is indian fashion weeks live runway shows. There is a difference you know, I know this because I am a fashionista who has lived most of his life at the cutting edge of pop culture and fashion, from modelling snorkel parkas for Kay's catalogue at Wicksteed park in the 70's to runway modelling for Diana's dress agency in the 90's!

Dovetailing nicely with my comprehensive modelling history is my mum's who was voted 'best leg's in Creswell' in 1959, successfully defending her title the following year. She was also runner up in the 'face of Creswell colliery', a competition I believe it was compulsory to 'black up' with pit dust for!

My dad was also a fairly iconic character who sported a perm and porn star moustache when Kevin Keegan was still wondering if he "had the length right" for one. Just to put the final stamp of authority on my fashion credentials I have been married for 7 years to a woman who lives and breathes it. There is very little she doesn't know on the subject and has an exemplary history of sartorial elegance even defending her flirtation with Doc boots and dungarees in her student days by saying:
"That look was very in for a while".
She even did a bit of runway work in her time, though I suspect that may have been while temping as a baggage handler at Stanstead.

The point I am trying to get across is that fashion is in my blood, there is nothing I can do other than embrace it and so it was, with immense enthusiasm and deep gratitude that I accepted an invitation to the last day of Indian Fashion Week from none other than Mr Sunil Sethi, a powerful man on the Indian fashion council.

My first dilemma was clearly what look should I go for? Cravat and blazer combo -David Niven in Delhi? Skinny jeans and leather jacket - cool uncle Mannion? Jeans ,trainers and an over-washed T - Delhi working man? Or my usual jeans and a Ted shirt- K-town cool? The decision was ultimately made - obviously - by 'A' who's comments ranged from "I am not going out with you dressed like that" to "you really haven't got a clue have you?". In the end it was a cheeky little military style Zara shirt with a pair of 501's. I was allowed to pick my own socks which I was particularly happy about. Whenever 'A' tells me we are going to dinner somewhere I always ask socks or no socks. It is how I define upmarket in Delhi. I have so far worn them 3 times in 6 months, so you can see what a big deal the night ahead was going to be.

We arrived in the Ambassador, tossed the keys to the valet and were whisked through the hoi polloi to the sanctuary of the VIP area, where I immediately started to feel my age and weight! We were surrounded by the young and beautiful of India and drank red wine while being Pap'd by photographers who clearly had no idea who we were. I then commited a huge faux pas by wading into the free grub while all around stared at me in disgust. "What are you doing you tit?" 'A' scalded. "First rule about fashion is nobody eats, the second rule about fashion is nobody eats" I found a convenient place to set down my plate and pretended to be interested in the programme when there was a tap on my shoulder.

I turned round to find a saxophonist asking me what I would like to hear. I was tempted to say Lick my love by Cradle of Filth but had a feeling he wouldn't know it, so instead settled for Nothing's gonna change my love for you by Glen Madeiros. This was clearly faux pas number 2 as the looks I got from everyone - including my own wife - screamed idiot!

I was swiftly rescued from my growing embarrassment and general un-coolness by a guy issuing us our tickets for the first show. Once again we were ushered through the masses to another VIP holding area just outside the main runway. Here we waited with Delhi's bold and beautiful before being shown to our seats. Front row right in the centre no less, flanked by Marie Claire India, Vogue India and GQ, I felt myself ascend from boiling hot to mildly hypothermic on the coolometer. The look's of envy from opposite row 2 would have reduced Medusa to stone. "Act natural" I whispered to 'A' through gritted teeth "Make it look like we do this sort of thing all the time" to which she replied "shut up Conde you twat", slamming me back to earth.

The lights dimmed,the hip hop music cranked up to 11 and the latest creations by Meera & Muzaffar Ali were donned by some of the most beautiful women I have ever shared the same oxygen with. The look was traditional Indian chic,all flowing silks and satins with detailed embroidery and sumptuous beading. I was genuinely blown away by the beauty of it all. 'A' seemed to be commenting more about the state of the models knees,elbows and complexions. I resisted the urge to say they may well spend alot of time on all fours!

We made most of our comments from behind our hands, this was just how 'A' was sitting, whereas I can't tell a lie in this blog and will admit I was trying to give myself an air of mystery and make it look like I knew what I was doing. The show ended, the designers took their bow and we went back to the free bar to discuss how cool we were.

Appetite whet, I was really up for the next show. The designer was Prashant Verma, a young hip Indian designer and there was a real buzz developing around the place. we took our seats again and as the flashbulbs started and the smoke machine cranked up I made a mental note to never come to something like this again without losing a stone and gaining some cool shades.

The models came and went in a flash of what I can best describe as Gotham City inspired satin and silk. In marked contrast to the previous traditional Indian look, Prashant's collection was alive,vibrant and pure sexy. Slashed harem pants - I was wearing those 3 years ago, round toe shoes - I bought those in 05 and military buttoned jackets - remember me telling you that was going to be big on Parhar Ganj, were just some of the comments from 'A'.

We both agreed though that the show was electric and a complete triumph, the audience seemed to concur. I can reveal that toe-less pumps and silk printed dresses are the future and Military is still very hot but needs to be done with a twist.I left the show enthused by fashion and looking forward to the next show but feeling all of my 37 years and 16 stone. Maybe I should leave the fashion and red wine to 'A and stick to football. Kingfisher anyone?

What would you do if a bird shit on your head?

2009-10-20T12:43:00.012+04:30

It is the first and I hope, last time I title my blog with a Bernard Manning joke, and fortunately for you the answer is not: leave her! I did have the misfortune however, to be in the position where I had to come up with an answer to the title question last week.

As usual,it wasn't just a simple case of walking down the street and passing under a tree full of incontinent pigeons. That would be too normal for this City, it was in fact while having my weekly shave.

I probably have to explain at this point that my weekly shave is not so much a matter of indulgence, more endurance. I stroll up to the market where there are 7 chairs spread out along the pavement, underneath a tarpaulin. It is here I find my arch nemesis and torturer in chief,Asif. He looks forward to my weekly trip to him in equal measure to the amount I dread it.The reason for this is that he charges me 5times what he charges the locals and I just can't say NO!

It doesn't matter how hard I try, or how much I repeat the word over and over in my head,I can't get those two little letters out. I am convinced he could ask me for my first born and I would just hand him over.I sit down in the chair and spell it out to him with words and mime, that I just want a shave. This is acknowledged and the shave commences. All relatively straight forward you would think? Oh no, this is where the problems start! See Asif has twigged that I find it hard to get out of the chair, hand over my 10rps and walk away and so preys on it.

Out comes the face cream and before I have had the chance to object my face is set in half an inch of a concrete like substance, that he makes himself - how he magics that up I dare not think!-. While this is drying on my face he goes to work on the head massage, nice you may be thinking but he has hands like anvils and by the time he has finished I am usually semi conscious. This allows him to go in for the kill with the neck, arm and hand massage, that culminates with a series of bone clicking tugs to my fingers that usually bring me out of my coma, just in time to enjoy the pain of the concrete being peeled off.

To add insult to injury, he charges me 100rps - about 1.50 - and laughs as I leave. You may ask why I go,and believe me I have asked myself but am struggling for answers. I have always found shaving a bit of a ball ache and the thought of someone else doing it for me seemed like such a luxury and it would be, if I could just say no! I digress though and have to now tell you how I managed to end up with bird crap on my head.

I took my seat randomly in the line of 7 and tilted my head back ready for my assault. As I looked up I noticed that I was sitting in a gap in the tarpaulin,staring into the trees and blue sky above (as seen in picture above). I joked to Asif that I would be in trouble if it rained, he grinned manically and yanked my chin down ricking my neck!

It was while sitting there, head back with the butcher of Boha Rao market poised with cut throat razor over my Adam's apple, that I looked up and noticed a bird fighting a squirrel. I watched with amazement and realised this wasn't an every day experience, when IT happened.

The bird, clearly terrified let rip with its weapon of crap production and from it's trajectory, I could tell it was heading my way. I had a sudden flashback to my youth when my sister - a girl that could have taught the soldiers at Abu Ghraib a thing or two - would pin me down with her knees holding my arms, while dripping spit from her mouth over my face! This would happen only after she had eaten an orange, so as to get extra elasticity from her saliva torture weapon. With this in mind, I had a decision to make. Thrash around wildly throwing head from side to side - as I did with my sister - and risk having The Butcher slash out my adams apple, or sit still, keep my life and take it on the chin so to speak.

With resigned indignation, I sat and accepted my fate and let the pigeons projectile explode on my forehead. The watching crowd erupted in laughter while I sat still frozen to the chair, as Asif wiped it off and carried on as if nothing happened! He finished the shave, wiped my face with the same towel he used to wipe up the crap and carried on with beating me up while I failed to say "no more" as usual.

I know now that I have the perfect reason not to go back for my weekly torture but know - as does Asif - that I will be back for more. It has become a sort of character test for me now. I feel that until I can say no to Asif, I can't move on and find a new barber. I need closure now not only from my inability to say no but also thanks to the pigeon, the horror of my youthful torture at the hands of my sister. Hard to believe that a simple trip to the barbers is going to end up with me in therapy!!

Burst bubble?

2009-10-06T08:52:00.008+04:30

The good life could be over,I suppose it was inevitable. I have been told to go home and get a job -only with more expletives - and suppose it is not bad advice. I think I have gone from one extreme to the other and become the stereotypical male.My list of irritants include the following:

1) Never showing any interest in what my wife Says.

2) Although not said, clearly believed that I am incapable of sorting out the slightest problem.

3) No support while she "works her arse off to make this a success".

I could go on but won't bore you with the details. I don't know where and when it went wrong but the unbreakable unit seems suddenly very vulnerable with both 'A' and I unable to communicate for more than a day without war breaking out. Maybe it is the weather! A sudden shift in barometric pressure has caused us both to go barking, maybe it is the pressure of living so far away from friends and family, or maybe it is the 7 year itch! Who knows,but I might be seeing some of you sooner than expected!

Maybe it is just "one of those things". You can't really expect to live in the environment we do without having the odd explosion at each other.It wouldn't be healthy to be blissfully happy all the time would it?

Anyway, 'A' stormed off to work this morning and no doubt was cursing me as I was her. It was with great anger and emotion,while looking down my "job list" that my spirits were raised again.

One of my duties for the day sandwiched between post office and book flights for Trivandrum was Put net curtains back up in car! Not the sort of job most people have each day is it? It suddenly hit me just how different a life we are leading. Even though the abnormal has started to become normal for us here it doesn't mean that it is.

We have to remember why we came here, the sacrifices we made and the problems it may cause and perhaps make a few extra allowances for each other. Perhaps I need to listen better than I think I do, perhaps I am not being supportive and while we are being honest admit to being rubbish at problem solving! At the same time maybe "A" needs to remember that this is not always easy for me. I don't sit on my arse watching Oprah all day and sometimes find my new role tough. Maybe we need to remember why we came and how good it is 99 per cent of the time. Maybe I should stop looking for flights to England and give her a call. Worth a try, if not see you soon!!

I can't half pick em!

2009-09-17T18:33:00.004+04:30

If ever you are going to answer the phone to a wrong number, make sure it is next to me! I hope you have all read the 'blind date' blog and will excuse me, if I come across as suitably smug throughout the rest of this blog.

I will admit, there was a touch of nerves on the Sunday afternoon, mainly fueled by the response I received from my golf partners in the morning.

I am starting to realise that there are basically two different sorts of ex-pat in Delhi. The ones that came here with work because they had no choice and hate it and those that came here for the money and hate it. We create a third category that no body seems to understand.We came here because we wanted to and absolutely love it.

I didn't think there was anything that weird about the wrong call/blind date situation. That is until I mixed with other ex -pat's. Their response ranged from the stupid to the dangerous. I heard theories of kidnap plots, swinger's and s&m parties, occult and fight clubs!

I was surprised at the amount of suspicion amongst my fellow 'Westerner's'. Why was there no faith in the decency of the Indian people? Am I being naive or they cynical? Why do I think "how friendly" and they "how suspicious"? More to the point, what should I wear, linen trousers and Ted Baker shirt or PVC all in one body suit with strap on dildo and gas mask?

With nerves peaking nicely we arrived over the road at 8.30 and were stood at the door with a man who introduced himself as "Bob from Goa". He seemed nice enough and didn't appear to have any fetish gear on or bible in hand. With renewed optimism we entered in through the security gate to be greeted by the most fabulous sight.

A beautifully lit garden with a bar set up full of imported wine, beer and scotch. We were greeted like royalty, not the free loading booze hounds that we are. The house was amazing and the food and drink exceptional but it was all outdone by the quality of the people.

Once again our faith in the Indian people came up trumps and we had a terrific night chatting to a former general of the Bombay Sappers, Goan Bob, Vijay the host and his son Ajay,The chief coroner of Delhi and Sanjay!

Oh yes, Sanjay the person that Vijay was supposed to be calling when he got me. We were very thankful to him for having a similar number to us, something he found hard to understand until it was all explained. We spent the night making friends and basking in the glow of Indian generosity, so happy that we went with our gut and were rewarded with a top night.

Vijay told me a wonderful story about how he came to be friends with a man down the road. He went to buy some of his favourite sweet meats from a shop in Connaught Place and they had none left. The store owner took his address and said he would get some delivered. he gave his address and headed home to await his sweet bounty. About 4 hours later he got a call from a man who asked;

"Hello haji, are you Vijay"?

"yes" replied Vijay

"Did you order some sweet meat" The stranger asked

"Yes I did" replied Vijay

" I have to say it was very tasty" the stranger said

The man in question lived at 64 not 44 and the goods had been delivered to the wrong house. Only after eating it did the man realise it had gone to the wrong number and promptly phoned Vijay to thank him.

That happened 20 years ago and they are still best friend's now. Vijay said it can only bode well for our friendship and I am inclined to agree. We are going to join the family at the country house next weekend - the one shown above - and I can see a firm friendship developing.

Remember next time you are call minding, never be afraid to answer. It could be your new best friend on the other end!

Monsoon blues.

2009-09-12T10:32:00.005+04:30

Everything has gone wrong since my last blog! Problems have been coming thick and fast culminating in my very own Basil Fawlty impression on Thursday, where instead of beating my car with a tree branch, I used my forehead!

No lies,it started brewing earlier in the week with the dreaded call centre and believe me, the irony was not lost on me when 'A' and I in Delhi are berating the standard of English call centres. There is a time delay; You can hardly hear what they are saying; You can never get straight through to them. All the common complaints were coming out that are usually associated with here. The culprit this time was Ikea in London and a kitchen that has gone wrong from start to finish.

Poor 'A' had to go all the way to Jaipur for 3 days on business. while trying to resolve problems with the Ikea call centre and a Polish kitchen fitter. I could not help due to losing my mobile phone chip, so felt a small amount of guilt but some relief that it was not me dealing with it. Little did I know what was to come!

I stayed up till 3.30am Thursday morning to watch the England game and was woken at 6.30am by a culmination of thunder,lightning and Rafa. Feeling slightly hungover, I drew the curtains to reveal the last of the monsoon rains battering Delhi. Everywhere was flooded and my normal 20 min return on the school run became nearly 2 hours!

I decided to head to the local market to resolve the 'lost chip' issue and while I was at it, fill my face with Ronald McDonald's hangover deterrent! Big mistake, the last of the monsoon rains have caused huge traffic problems and I ended up sat in a non moving jam for 2 hours! Tired, hungover and hungry I eventually staggered from the car, preferring to get wet than sweat in a steamed up Ambassador. I felt like an urban Bear Grylls, staggering around looking for sustenance and it was at this point that the Basil incident occurred.

To the huge amusement of the surrounding commuters and rick wallahs (not to be mistaken for rotund pop idol contestant), I buried my head in my hands and pounded it against the window.I had dropped Rafa off at school and was now getting close to being late for collecting him again and had achieved absolutely nowt! Suddenly the traffic moved slightly and seeing my chance, dived back into the car and hurtled across 4 lanes to u-turn into the oncoming traffic on the opposite side.

At last I was free! soaked with sweat, rain and blood from my head but free nevertheless. Free to head back to where I had just started from to come back and do it all again!

This I duly did and arrived late to collect Rafa before heading back home but not without more incident. Stopping to get petrol, the attendant filling up the car - yes you don't even have to pump your own petrol here, there will soon be bum wipers I am convinced - stopped pumping and shouted that petrol was leaking from the bottom of the car. On inspection there was indeed petrol everywhere and not only that, everything in the boot was sodden with it as well. Rafa and I left the garage to rejoin the traffic only now things were even worse, due to the green spots in front of our eyes and the nausea from the smell!

I eventually arrived home to an exploded water heater and a flooded kitchen and Indu complaining that her water supply had again cut off. I had left the house at 7.30am and got home at 2.30pm. I had covered about 8 km's, had a bleeding head,double vision,acute nausea,hunger pains,dehydration,a knackered car,a knackered water heater and an unhappy house keeper!

Not one of my better days but I wouldn't swap it for the world. Come rain or shine, blood or vomit there really is no place like Delhi and nothing could spoil the sight of Rafa loking forward to his first games lesson!

Blind date.

2009-09-09T10:01:00.002+04:30

You may by now hopefully have an idea how things work out here in Delhi. People generally speaking are polite, respectful, modest and friendly. Well, friendly just went above and beyond the call of duty after a very strange phone call!

I answered the phone while holding a chuntering Sillli and unfortunately didn't get the name of the person speaking at the other end. The conversation went like this:

"Hello.............................. (didn't get this bit because of Silli) How are you"?

Me - "I am very well thanks and you"?

"Good, good, good. We were wondering if you and your beautiful wife would like to have dinner with us on Sunday"?

Now I am in a bit of a situation,firstly I do not know who I am speaking to but assume it is one of 'A's friends through work. Secondly, I don't know if we want to go to dinner or not. Mind racing, I came up with the parent's escape clause.

Me - "That would be lovely, but first I will have to check we can get a baby sitter, what time"?

"8.30"

Me - "Where abouts"?

"At our house"

Me - "ok I will check with Amanda and call you back if that is ok, sorry I didn't get your name, who is calling"?

"VJ. This is Sanjay isn't it"?

Me - "No, this is Gareth"

VJ - " Oh dear, it would appear I have dialled the wrong number, my apologies. Where Are you from Gareth"?

Me - "I am from England"

vj - " And where are you living now"?

Me - " Shanti Niketan"

VJ - "Ahh so do we, so listen now I have invited you, you really must come to dinner"

Me - " That is very kind of you but you don't know us and you were trying to invite Sanjay"

VJ - " No problem, Sanjay will still come and so will you, we are neighbours and it will be great fun. Take down my number and check with your wife, call me back and let me know if you can make it. If not we will re schedule"

Me, in shock - "Ok, I will call you back"

The most surreal thing that has ever happened to me. I have been invited to dinner by a complete stranger who got hold of me through a wrong number!! It turns out we actually live on the same road and about an hour ago I got the above invite through the post! 'A' and I are now going on a blind dinner date, and to think I was fretting about making new friends in my last blog!

Sod the school gate, I am going to kick back and wait for the wrong numbers to roll in.

India, what a place!!

Enemy at the gate.

2009-09-08T08:40:00.004+04:30

I have no idea about the etiquette at the school gates. I am usually fairly adaptable to most circumstances - Though some may beg to differ - and have negotiated most of the traumatic events over the years with reasonable aplomb. You know the sort of thing's, first introduction to girlfriend's parents;dinner date's with complete strangers organised by the wife; Wedding day etc. etc. I like to think of myself as a bit of a social chameleon, able to blend in reasonably well in most company, yet am at a complete loss how to behave and who to speak to when collecting Raf from school!

What is the 'done thing'? I am starting to have panic attacks about it 30 mins. before it is time to collect him. Should I just bowl up to the first person I see and break in to conversation? Keep myself to myself and wait for someone to approach me? Stare at the floor and avoid eye contact at all costs? It is all a complete mystery.

Everyone always said that your kid's going to school is a great way of meeting new people and in our current circumstances this would be a good thing. We certainly met some great people through Rafa's nursery when we had moved to a new area so were hopeful it would work the same way here. Unfortunately, it is going to be hard if I never speak to anyone! Complicating matters further is the fact that there are about 15 different nationalities in Rafa's year, which means 15 different cultural rights,wrongs and languages at the school gate.

I am at a complete loss. As usual, 'A' has just got on with it and is now on first name terms with everyone and organising 'play dates', while I am still sat in the car till the last possible minute in the hope that all the other parents will be gone by the time I get in. It is so not like me and really starting to bother me. I am wondering if it is because they are - in the main - women? They all seem to have huge smiles and endless chit chat, it all seems so natural. All I have is a morbid fear of eye contact and a soaking wet t-shirt.

Am I discovering another thing that men are just not genetically predisposed to - others being: finding item's in fridge/wardrobe/handbags; Remembering.... anything; clothes shopping and knowing which cushions can be sat on and which one's can't be! - ? Or am I just turning into a grumpy middle age man that has forgotten how to be sociable?

My main problem with it all is the fear of striking up a conversation with someone that turns out to be completely boring. I have no ability to spot a bore at all, let alone deal with distancing myself from them once I have discovered they are. Once I have started, I know it will end up with me suggesting we should go out sometime, exchanging numbers then being stuck in a borefest for all eternity. In short I have no boredar at all and I am just not prepared to take the risk.

Why should we all get along anyway? The only thing we definately have in common is that we all chose to have sex at about the same time 5 years ago. Hardly a solid foundation for 'new best friend' finding is it? The only person I have braved talking to so far is a guy who is actually in the same boat as me, a house husband. RESULT!!!! Things were looking up for about a week, until he announced he is going back to Blighty for 3 month's to work! GUTTED!!!! Perhaps his boredar works well and he sussed me out, who knows?

I have decided now there is nothing left for it other than to face my fears. Tomorrow I am going to walk in to school like Jack the peanut, sidle up next to the most un-boring looking person my rubbish boredar can find and strike up a conversation. I asked 'A' for some advice and she gave me 2 tips.

Firstly, find out very early if they are likely to try and indoctrinate you to a religion and secondly and most importantly, make sure they drink!

Watergate update

2009-09-03T15:36:00.002+04:30

Further to my last post, I am now pleased to be able to tell you that all threat of strike action has been averted! Tool's are back in hand, smile's back on face's and water running freely. I would like to take credit for this but ironically it is all down to a plumber rather aptly named Sabu Praba wata!

I have still not managed to win Indu over though but (unlike the water supply), hope springs!!

Sexism in the work place

2009-09-01T12:51:00.007+04:30

Just returned from a flying visit to England to renew visa's, passport's and acquaintance's with family and friends. Everything went incredibly smoothly considering the British passport office and the Indian embassy were involved and I had a chance to spend some time with my Marvellous mum and dad who have had a real rough trot of late.

For those who don't know, on top of having to deal with the loss of their beloved boy's to India ie Rafa and Silli, they have also had the unwelcome news that my mum has breast cancer. Dark day's indeed in the Conde house and yet you would never know anything was different. My mum has re invented the word brave and my dad has shown a love, dedication and resolve to help mum through it that most men could only dream of producing.

My mum started her chemo on Friday at 12 midday and was shopping at 3pm! We left them on Saturday with mum feeling a little nauseous but still smiling and determined to beat the cancer and dad, as usual by her side to help her on the way. A more inspirational and remarkable mum and dad I couldn't wish for and though separated by a few thousand miles we are with them scrapping all the way.

Love you both.

So to our Delhi return. I have to say both 'A' and I felt that it was like returning home which is so nice. The journey back was relatively trouble free, though I did feel gutted that I couldn't spend 5 hours at the bar as I did on our outward journey! We returned to a perfectly clean and tidy house, milk and water in the fridge and the a/c on courtesy of our house keeper Indu. Pretty ideal isn't it? Oh to have a housekeeper I hear you cry. It must be so great to have 'staff' you all snarl through gritted teeth! Well this is where the trouble starts!

It would appear that from a fairly stress free 4 months with the 'staff', we have returned home to uproar. The housekeeper is not happy and it seems the malcontent may be spreading. 'One out all out' banners have appeared at the front gates, along with an oil drum fire that they are all huddled round with fingerless gloves on (made the last bit up obviously, fingerless gloves are so 80's and don't go with sari's)!

There is however a feeling of 'strike' in the air and all 4ft 8 of Indu is like the guns of the Navarone! While we have been away the water supply has failed in the house and the staff quarter's - I know, I know staff quarter's sound dreadful but it is better than servant's room which is how it was originally described to us - and it would appear there has been several thousand builders around to try and sort it out and every single one has managed to offend her. She mentioned to 'A' that she is:

"Aware she is only a little women and shouldn't have an opinion but that man is very much too proud of himself"!

On this occasion it would appear that the man in question is at least not me. It is the builder, but most of the time I do seem to be the one feeling the wrath of Indu. On regular occasions Indu and Mia, our sweeper - yes I know it sounds terrible but everyone has one - seem to get their head's together and confront me over something or another. They remind me of the 2 Polish girl's working in the Cafe on Harry Enfield's tv programme, who constantly make him feel uncomfortable. The only difference being, with us the tension is not sexual but sexist!

I get the feeling that they think I am just a lazy, misogynistic, male chauvinist pig that spends his days on the computer, downloading degrading image's of women while his lovely wife goes to work. This is quite common amongst Indian men,so I can't really blame them for thinking that but I am working hard to change their opinion.

For the time being though things aren't good. A perfectly civil "morning Indu" can be returned with a look that say's 'stop undressing me with your eye's you evil rapist scum'. She still insits on calling me Master despite numerous requests to the contrary. I imagine her talking to the rest of the staff and saying:

"Can you believe the scumbag still makes me call him master in this day and age"?

Whenever I ask her anything she pretends not to hear but when 'A' repeats the question she gets a reply. 'A' thinks she has hearing problems and struggles with the pitch of my voice. I reminded 'A' that she is not a dog and I am not Brian Blessed. She speaks queen's English most of the time to 'A', yet struggles to put a sentence together around me unless she is criticising something I am doing with the boy's.

"Too hot for them to be outside", "too dangerous for them on the road" "too many times you feed them food they don't like" are common criticism's

It might all be a bit of paranoia but she is civility personified to 'A' and I just can't seem to win her over. I now see this whole issue as perfect opportunity, I shall ride to her rescue on a tidal wave of water like a monkey wrench wielding Richard Gere,save the day and become her hero!

Hold on, is that sexist?

Posterity!

2009-08-14T20:08:00.003+04:30

CHILDREN IN BED, 19.30

WIFE IN BED, 20.30 (AIDED BY KINGFISHER,QUALITY IMPORTED WINE AND GENERAL OVER EXCITEMENT!)

GARETH WITH NEW ARRIVAL OF INDIAN WINE SOCIETY IMPORTED HAMPER........... PRICELESS!!

An-noy-ing, adj. - To cause vexation or irritation!

2009-08-13T08:36:00.011+04:30

I went to my first 'parent's evening' last night. Just when I thought this period of my life couldn't get any more surreal it suddenly has a damn good go!

Parent's evening! The two word's that would strike the fear of God into any school kid and a guarantee to bring on total panic in me and ultimately total apoplexy in my poor parents. I am just getting my head around the fact that I have a son at school when they spring Parent's evening on me.

My anxiety about it had been simmering away nicely, before finally spilling over into a mild panic attack an hour before we went. What if Raf has been hitting people? What if they don't think that he is as advanced as he should be? What if he has said "skin me up one time blood" - gangster parlance that his mother has taught him! - to one of the teachers? I was beside myself and suddenly realised that I was actually more scared about going to a parent's evening, than I used to be while waiting for my folk's to return from one. How ridiculous! I snapped myself out of it, calmed down and started to prepare excuses for whatever they might throw at us!

As it turned out it was a pleasant experience. We turned up at the school, met all the staff, looked around the classroom,had a little chat with the teachers and nearly left without incident. I say "nearly left" because there was just one little thing! We were looking at the 'house point' board and couldn't help but notice with some pride that Rafa was second. I say "notice with some pride", what actually happened was 'A' made a point of tapping on the pictures of all the other children Raf was beating and laughing while their respective parent's looked on!

I could have died of shame, while 'A' really doesn't get wound up by things like that. It is one of the 'little annoyance's' that we all have in our relationship's,others include the fact that I have to walk round the house after her turning off light switches - a real pain when you have 96 in the house -, She never closes a door and walks every where in the middle of the road (I am sure mine would be too extensive to list but would probably include the fact that I would actually walk around the house to count the light switches!).

The problem is I am quite easy to annoy.It is not just 'A', yesterday afternoon the boy's were at it. Every time I put Silli down he cried, it was impossible to eat in the same room as him as he wanted it and he is like a moth to a flame with anything he can't have. Raffi hit Silli every time I got him happy and settled, never -and I mean never- ever stops talking and can take an hour to eat a cheese butty.

What causes these annoyance's is that obviously we are all different and the fact that I understand this makes it more annoying! I know that opposites attract etc. etc. but sometimes 'A' and I are poles apart. Never mind singing off the same hymn sheet, most of the time we are in different churches. 'A' is so artistic yet I can't draw a straight line, everything she watches on TV I hate and vice versa, she is a morning person I am a night owl. She likes mayonnaise, shopping and muesli, I like ketchup, football and frosties'.

Despite all these little annoyance's and differences I adore them all. 'A' is about as close to being the perfect person as is possible, Raffi is the life and soul of the house and Silli is the most loving happy little baby you could ever wish for. Somehow,as a family we just seem to work. I don't know how or why and I am not sure what I contribute; but know my difficulty in absorbing the fact I have a child at school must be really annoying!

School Daze

2009-08-05T06:45:00.006+04:30

Rafa has started school! I know it is the oldest cliche in the world but now the question really does need answering; WHERE DOES THE TIME GO? I am fairly sure he only came out of nappies 6 weeks ago and started talking only last week. This is how it seems to me anyway. There is definitely something in the space-time continuum that changes when you have children. It somehow makes time speed up for you, while simultaneously slowing it down for anyone without.

What exactly did we used to do with our lives before having children? I asked 'A' who seems to remember a lot of dining out, theatre and pubs. My recollection is pub's, Cat deeley on SMTV and the Hollyoaks omnibus and yet here I am planning the school run! What happened in between? Is this how it is for everybody? Time is slipping by so fast. Before I know it Raf is going to think I am a complete tosser and not want anything to do with me,'A' will have left me because I play golf too much - she can't bear to see me in golf slacks and polo shirts - and I will be 22 stone,living in a bedsit in Penge while working in a call centre.

This might all sound a bit dramatic but the problem is, my mind is having chance to idle again. With Rafa at school and Silli asleep my head has time to contemplate the future and it keeps veering off in the direction of the South circular and Penge in particular!

This is all I am sure, just my way of dealing with this very proud moment in a parent's life. I get all introspective and nostalgic, while 'A' just keeps crying! Packing the lunch box, little snivel. Rafa walking to car in his uniform, small sob, Rafa walking in to classroom, a tear shed but in control. Rafa bursting out of the school gate with his shirt un-tucked and his hat on yelling:

"Don't worry, I did everything the teacher told me to!"

Breakdown!!! I have to confess, for us both. Nothing can prepare you emotionally for the start of your first Born's schooling. It is a huge mixed bag of pride, happiness, sadness and worry. Pride that you have managed to get them in to a good school, happiness that they are going to make new friends and have new adventures, sadness that it is the end of an era and worry that you are now handing over your most treasured thing in the world to someone Else's care.

The first day was like a full on, out of body experience for me. It felt like it was happening to someone else, while I hovered just above looking down on it all. We gathered in the school hall waiting for the headmaster to give us a welcome speech, when I had my first flashback. I clearly heard one of my old teacher's 'beefy Graham'shout

"Conde, stop cloyning abite an sit dine nigh" (needs to be read with Belfast accent)
Closely followed by 'Porno Pete Atkinson' clipping me round the ear. I swear, I actually had the ringing in my ear afterwards it was so real.This couldn't be me, here, now with my own son could it? I still feel like a child myself most of the time and don't feel anywhere near old enough to have my own at school.At the same time though I felt an overwhelming surge of responsibility. Responsibility to encourage him through his school years, to try and help him develop an interest in learning and make him appreciate what he will get out of it with a little effort.

It was with some relief that we eventually left the main hall and the smell of the polished floor - the same smell at all schools in the world - and crossed the playing fields to Rafa's new classroom. The place that is going to start him on the path to greatness, Doctor, surgeon, lawyer or city high flier? Who knows what the future will hold for him? 'A' thinks he will be Albert Einstein while I am more inclined to think Lex Luther, but whatever path he chooses, I will always remember his first day at school. I will remember the look of joy on 'A's face, the look of fear on Rafa's but most of all the feeling of love and pride I felt at that moment for my little boy.

Pesky rain.

2009-07-30T21:39:00.002+04:30

Just to put a more manly stance on the last blog, I may not have been quite so philosophical if the rain hadn't stopped play for most of the day!Pesky Brittish summer time is playing havoc with my testosterone levels and I don't even live there!

www.Indiansingledad.com!

2009-07-30T21:04:00.002+04:30

It is has been a strange week for the artist formerly known as Indanhousehusband. The loss of the better half has been a strange experience. It started out with a horrible foreboding, yet has actually been a good confidence booster. There was a huge amount of anxiety that very quickly slipped away on 'A's' departure.

I quickly realised that I am a fairly capable dad now. I know I can cope with the day to day grind of nappies, tantrums and tear ups but had wondered how I would cope without the relief that comes with 'A's' arrival from work each night. No matter how much fun and games I think I provide to the boy's each day, they still welcome the arrival each day of mum and a fresh face to entertain them. It is also a welcome relief for me to have some adult conversation and someone to share the day's stories with.

This set me thinking about how tough life must be for a single parent. How do they cope knowing there isn't going to be that key in the door at the end of the day, that relief of duty for the last hour before bed and that companionship that we all really need whether we like to admit it or not. I have the utmost admiration for how they keep mind and body together dealing with what is - whether us male of the species want to admit it or not - a tough job.It is easy for me 'playing at it' for a week knowing that 'A' will be back soon and all will be well but a month, a year or a lifetime, I can't comprehend.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am truly grateful that I am in a good relationship. That 'A' and I work really well as a team, that the boy's are happier with the two of us trying our best to make them happy. Most of all I really miss my wife. The thought of 4 day's of uninterrupted Ashes viewing is really no substitute for the love of my life and her safe return to our beautiful home can't come fast enough.

Beautiful game update

2009-07-27T20:08:00.002+04:30

Further to my last post, I thought you might all be interested to know that my experiment with the communal water cooler was in fact a mistake. Consequently I may now have to also revise my weight loss from 8 pounds to about a stone by this time on Wednesday.Please think of me when you are moaning about the weather in Blighty!

The beautiful game!

2009-07-27T12:21:00.006+04:30

It was an innocent enough conversation between My beautiful wife 'A' and Annand, a work colleague that ultimately left me in the sorry condition I find myself in today. Sorry condition? That actually doesn't come anywhere near doing it justice, if I was the proverbial horse, I would by now have been led out the back and unceremoniously blasted in the head!

In complete agony with a bad back, torn hamstring, constant cramp in both calves, blistered toe's, heel's and ball's of feet, not to mention alone - 'A' is UK bound with work - and all this on my 7th wedding anniversary! Happy anniversary darling I love you more today than ever, but will not forgive you for that pesky conversation with Annand!

'A' made the mistake of mentioning to Annand that I had played a bit of football in my time. Though this may be true, my time was unfortunately too far back in the murky depths of time to be remembered. I was introduced to him and he asked me to:

"Join me and a few friends on Sunday for a game"

It is very hard to say no to anyone here, as they are so genuine and enthusiastic about everything. Also it has to be admitted, I still fancy that I can "do a job" for any club, anywhere and at any standard if pushed! This clearly is a ridiculous thing to think and has been proved utterly incorrect on more than one occasion, however I just can't resist. Ever since I scored a 40 yarder at my cousin Nigel's 40th birthday game 10 years ago -it gets longer every time I see him - I still feel I have that little bit of magic to offer and thus agreed to play!

Mistake number 1!

Play however I did and though I may not be able to walk properly ever again I have to say that I really enjoyed myself. On arrival at our meeting point, the Hari Nagar sports complex it started to dawn on me that this wasn't going to be a Sunday afternoon stroll at the local park. This was a fairly serious affair with good facilities and what appeared to be a well kitted out bunch of athletic looking guys in their mid 20's. After a bit of stretching and 10 mins of knocking the ball about I was asked - due to my height as opposed to them witnessing my first touch I hope - If I played in goal. I replied that I was predominantly a defender but had played in the midfield quite a bit as a youth.

Mistake number 2!!

After a bit of pre match chat - which involved me telling anyone who would listen I was nearly 40 - it turned out that this was in fact the squad of the Delhi Cantt football club - yes that is cantt - a well respected member of the Indian fa national league!! I was so far out of my depth I was in danger of getting the bends and was seriously considering feigning a hamstring strain! The only glimmer of hope I had to cling to was that I am a good 2 stone lighter than the last time I pulled on a shirt and I no longer smoke. These faint glimmers were unfortunately completely overshadowed by the fact that it was still about 38 degs and 90 per cent humidity, the pitch was like concrete, the other players were younger and fitter not to mention acclimatised and I haven't played for a long time! I was in trouble and knew it. On top of this I had already drunk most of my 2 litres of water and we hadn't even kicked off!

Mistake number 3!!!

Now the fact that I had drunk my 2 litres of water will not seem like a problem to most people. Here however, drinking water from a source other than purchased bottles or home filtration systems is like playing Russian Roulette. The main difference being that instead of the contents of your head plastering the walls, the contents of your stomach plaster the porcelain. For about a week! This now left me with a serious problem, dehydration or dysentery?!! I felt like Bear Grylls in a pair of Adidas Gazelle and a yellow bib. I could hear his voice going through my head over and over again:

"In these conditions a man can die of dehydration in hours. He has to find water and fast but from a reliable source. Drinking contaminated water in this environment is an instant death sentence"!

All this and we hadn't even kicked off! I decided I had to drink or die and so filled my bottle from the communal water cooler a decision I am waiting to see if I regret! Finally we kicked off and I immediately stepped into the holding midfielder role, thinking I would just stand there, collect the loose balls and pass it on.

Mistake number 4!!!!

I seemed to have the responsibility in this position of picking up probably the best player in India. Within 10 mins of kick off I was ready to collapse. Shirt soaked, head spinning and breathing the way a goldfish does when tipped from the bowl. All ready to admit defeat and head for the side lines an extremely odd thing happened. I received the ball from the centre half with my back to the oppositions goal on the half way line. Summoning up all my powers of strength and concentration,I got on my toes ready to get my touch right when a cry of "man on" went up! Oh the sweet international language of football! I snapped out of my dehydration induced dizziness and as if in slow motion my body became at one with the ball. I rolled round 180 degs while bringing the ball under control and with a swivel of the hips and jink of the foot side stepped the on coming Indian Pele before stroking a perfect cross field ball to the feet of our left winger.It was like old times. I had remembered in that few seconds what it was like to play properly, how you know when something you did looks good from the sidelines, feels good inside and is respected by others on the park.This is why I was here, this is why I said yes, this is the buzz only football can give you! With a mixture of adrenaline and shock, I headed off down the pitch looking for a return pass from the tricky looking little Sikh winger thinking to myself maybe I can still play, more than that, if I can get fit I might still have a season in me, sod that I might even have a world cup in me!

Mistake number 5!!!!!

The return pass never came! Not only did it never come, I was now in a situation where I had to sprint to get back into position, this I duly did wanting to show willing for the team but knowing it was probably going to finish me off and boy did it. Realising the error of my way's I returned to my holding role and prayed for the end of the match. Half time came and now feeling the 4 litres of water I had consumed taking affect I asked the skipper where to go for a pee. His response was:

"Find a wall, make sure there are no women watching then go naaa"

Re-hydrated and rested over half time, I approached the second half with renewed vigour and a fourth wind. It was quite a surreal experience to hear players using phrases like "good shot", "man on" and "knock it" interspersed with their native Hindi.I started to think I know how it feels for the foreign import, thrust into a team he doesn't know speaking a language he doesn't but loving the game enough to put up with it. Javier Mascherano basically only taller, fatter and rubbish. The full time whistle came and not a minute too soon, we shook hands and I dripped off to the car with Annand to be deposited at home where I stumbled into the house near death. As I sat on the settee and basked in the aching limb glory of it all, I realised that I actually enjoyed it immensely. Though hard work and possibly doing damage of the long term variety, you just can't beat a game of football.It doesn't matter if you speak the same language, are the same colour, caste or ability it is the perfect game for male bonding anywhere in the world.

For the record,my side won 10-2, I drank 7 litres of water - and only pissed once - lost 8 pounds in weight, scored 1, made 2 and have been invited back to play next week with the coach's words echoing in my head

"We would like you to come again next week, you have good height"

Will I be going again?

Definitely.

Mistake number 6? !!!!!!

Don't look back in hunger.

2009-07-20T19:11:00.007+04:30

There is more money spent each year in the USA on domestic garden products than is collected in tax every year by the Indian government, where the population is over a billion!

Staggering isn't it? I have to stop from time to time and remind myself just how desperately poor the majority of this country is. You can find yourself becoming so desensitised to the poverty surrounding you everyday, living in the relative wealth that we enjoy. No more than 500 yards from our home is a flyover where several families - including babies - eat, drink, wash and sleep. They fetch their water from a well on the other side of the road using a bucket on a rope. When you stop and consider it, it is so disturbing to think that people live like that in a civilised world, so close to one of the most upmarket parts of the city.

I had a moment last week were a beggar - a girl younger than 10 - came up to me at the traffic lights and rather than pester me for "one chapati sir" looked in and walked right past. She recognised me and realised that she had tried umpteen times before with no joy so wasn't going to waste her time again. It was only when she ignored me for the first time that I could actually comprehend the absurdity of the situation. What is more unusual, an 8 or 9 year old girl walking past you in the street and not asking for money or a shoeless unwashed 8 or 9 year old girl begging for money in 40 deg heat? The fact that I thought it was the former disgusted me. I felt Completely ashamed, guilty, and horrified that I had let myself think of this girl begging as normality and not something that the whole country should be ashamed of.

The problem is that the gap between the 'haves' and 'have nots' here is absolutely massive and unlikely to change anytime soon. The 'haves'- the category we fall into -have the means to live an extraordinarily privileged lifestyle.They say that money can't buy you love, but here money can buy you time. Time to spend doing what you want to do with the people you love the most thanks to the drivers, nannies,cleaners, gardeners and cooks in your employ which are all par for the course. It seems so gauche sometimes to have all this staff but the guilt is balanced out by the fact that you are at least employing people and helping them to make a better life for themselves.The average wage is less than 1000 pounds pa and someone would be considered to be 'doing well' if they earned 4 -5 thousand pa!

Our housekeeper, Indu gets about 100 pounds a month which is a decent wage by Indian standards - and incidentally manages to put her son through university in Australia - but do we have a responsibility to pay her more? We are told not to by the Indian locals we know but I can't help but feel the status quo suits them. There has never really been much encouragement for the lower caste's to better themselves and the higher caste's would like to keep it that way but change has to come in this country from the bottom to the top and everyone needs to do their bit. We did ours this weekend by giving the housekeeper more money. It may not make a difference in the great scheme of things but it will do to Indu and at least we are trying. Lets hope the Indian government starts doing theirs sooner rather than later.

Marmite nation.

2009-07-16T07:58:00.007+04:30

I met one of Amanda's work colleagues Jules a couple of nights ago and we had a great night out but something he said really got me thinking. Jules is a top fella who lives in the same part of London as we used to, eats in the same restaurants and drinks in the same bars we used to in fact he is very similar to us in a lot of ways. Yet when I asked him if he likes India I was surprised to hear him say he detests it! He could come up with countless reasons why he disliked it but when he asked us why we liked it so much we struggled to come up with anything remotely tangible. The thing about India is that it is complete Marmite - apologies for the plagiarism Reynolds! - People that have visited this country are always split straight down the middle when asked what they think. It is a country of such extremes and impossible to pigeon hole and that is part of the attraction for me. As the reasons we gave to Jules for our love of India held no sway I decided I am going to try and explain in greater depth why I love it.

I like living in a place where material gain is not the ultimate aim of people, a place where the goal's of most 'working class' families is to get the children a good education and teach them some morals. A place where people have a smile on their face but no money in their pocket's and are thankful for what they have, not bitter about what they don't have.I like all the little idiosyncrasies that would drive me nuts in Blighty like rickshaw drivers claiming to have no change (in the hope you will tell them to keep the difference),people not respecting queues anywhere,getting 'cut up' on the roads constantly and people trying to sell you something wherever you go. I like the fact that car's regularly drive the wrong way up motorways and it doesn't make headline news I like the climate,food,and beer, the city and the countryside. I like the fact that Sir is used to address each other and a smile is always returned.I like the fact that there is no compensation culture, that there is not necessarily a claim where there is blame and health and safety doesn't dictate how people live their lives. I like the fact that if someone arranges to come and do a job for you they come when they said they would with what they need to do it.I like the people,they are a kind, gentle friendly race full of joy and optimism not hate and cynicism.Basically a negative of how I sometimes felt I was becoming slightly in England. I like it most of all though because it seems to bring out the best in me. I feel more calm and patient, relaxed and at peace with myself here than anywhere else in the world and that is reason enough to love it.

Mclaren in India testing shocker

2009-07-13T17:48:00.000+04:30

Lewis Hamilton has commented today on how happy he is with the new car and how good it was to visit India. Hopes are high now for his first victory of the season after a "dramatic rethink on how the car was set up". Lewis was quoted today as believing it to be "a radical re-design, stripping the car back to it's basics and starting all over again". A photo of the new design has today been released to the press after secret test sessions in Jaipur.

Nescafe moment brings peace to the roads

2009-07-06T19:21:00.000+04:30

I have today been involved in my first incident of road rage. Well I say road rage, it was probably more,road mild irritation if truth be known.It wasn't even actually aimed at me, in fact scrub the first line completely and let me start this all over again.

I was in the back of a rick - where I seem to spend half my waking hours - when it overtook a man on a motorbike and blasted it's horn. To those of you who have been to India this will not seem too untoward, as - for those who haven't been - this is perfectly normal.Out here, the horn is actually a replacement for an indicator, brake light and reverse light and in the evening the headlight's. I am not exaggerating I promise the horn can mean any of the following at any time:-

I am overtaking you.
I am undertaking you.
I am turning right.
I am turning left.
I am going straight on.
I am stopping.
I know it is dark and I have no headlights but you will hear me if you can't see me.
Get out of my way you tit.
Why did you do that.
I am going to come past you whether you move or not.
I hate you and I want to kill you.

You get the message.

The point is that the horn means everything and nothing but when used it never usually raises any kind of reaction from the hornee (think I have just invented a word). You get none of the snarling and gesticulating that goes on in Blighty. No threats of retribution issued through the windows and never do you see people out of their car's at the lights ready for 'handbags' if you dare to lean on the klaxon. I have no idea what separates the Indian man - I say man because it is very rare to see a woman driving here which some might say is no bad thing, though not me obviously because I am in touch with my feminine side and think women are wonderful driver's who never have trouble negotiating roundabout's - from his British counterpart but am going to make it my mission to find out.

Can you imagine what I can achieve if I can get to the bottom of it? Take a busy London road in 40deg heat with everybody cutting each other up and beeping at each other but just getting on with it. It would be Shangri La, Utopia and Heaven all rolled in to one, the roads would once again become a pleasurable place to be. It is my mission from this moment on to discover the secret and bring peace to the UK roads,and all because a little fella on a scooter gave the universal signal of (i know not many under 40's will get this reference but I am going to use it) Gareth Hunt coffee bean shaking! Watch this space.

A tryst with destiny

2009-07-03T08:58:00.000+04:30

"A tryst with destiny" is the fabulous phrase used by Nehru, when India gained it's freedom from imperial rule in August 1947. A momentous day in the history of India- who had spent century after century under the rule of one nation or another- and a phrase that resonates greatly in me at the moment. It was while picnicking by India gate on a humid, steamy Sunday night that I realised fully for the first time since our arrival, that this really does feel like the right thing to be doing. This is right for my family and I, it is where we belong, where we feel complete.

India gate is a magical place to be at sunset, particularly on a Sunday when all the Indian's regardless of caste, wealth or age come together to do what they do best. Pose! Star crossed lovers promenade up and down in the throes of courtship, extended families meet up for ice cream, even the eunuchs are out to preen their feather's. The most prominent group though is undoubtedly the single male. They stroll around in vast gang's holding hand's in a display of availability that is matched no where in the animal kingdom. The Indian male of the species is a particularly vain beast and personal grooming is very high on their agenda. There are several male grooming salon's in every market square and a barber chair on every street corner. Great care and attention is taken to make sure the moustache - a dying look in the UK much to my dismay being a secret admirer - and hair is in perfect condition at all times. These people, all here as the sun goes down behind the imposing war memorial posing, preening, promenading and courting, but most of all staring at the odd bunch of Westerners with the enormous blonde baby!

Oh yes, quite a stir is caused wherever we venture with the chunk that is Silas and India Gate on a Sunday night is certainly no different! People queuing up just to get a glimpse, hanging around long enough to pluck up courage to get a photo or even better a hold of the beast. We have seen it all before though with Rafa. When he was a baby and we travelled here one of my favourite memories is of being at the Taj Mahal on my parent's 40th wedding anniversary staring up at the beauty and majesty of the world's most spectacular building, then turning round and seeing most of the people there photographing Rafa! I remember so many times like that, looking around and trying to savour the moment and wondering where we would be in 3 or 5 years time. Hoping we could find a way to get back to this wonderous country that we both love so much and here we are again.

It feels like a fait accompli as I watch 'A' playing cricket with Rafa and Silas eating everything in sight and I can't help but wonder what the next few years have in store for him and the rest of us. There is a small sense of vulnerability as it is not solely in my hands and I don't want this happiness taken away from me. As the fear rises though I can't help but keep remembering that beautiful phrase - a tryst with destiny - and feel assured that this is probably ours.

In the world of the motor bike crash the wooden legged man is king!

2009-06-30T08:19:00.001+04:30

I had a wonderful day yesterday shopping with the mother in law! Not a statement you are likely to hear very often I know, particularly when the arch nemesis of the house husband is traditionally the m.i.l. It is just one of a number of occurrence's that have happened over the last week in the twilight world of the semi-house husband that have left me realising mine is not a normal existence. I say semi-house husband because I feel I have been operating under false pretences. 'A' has been off work and the m.i.l has been here so my position has been temporarily redundant. I kissed the boy's goodbye last Thursday and agreed to see them again tomorrow, then handed them over to Grandma after first making her promise not to mess up my routine.

Relieved temporarily of my usual duties I find myself gradually slipping back into "lazy dad" mode. You know the one I am talking about, where us dad's pretend we are listening to the check list of stuff we need before we go out but are really wondering if Xabi Alonso has signed for another club over night, or if Glen Johnson's signing will make a significant difference and.......... wow I have never noticed that picture on that wall............ sorry, yes dear I have got it. This is the mode that makes us present, in all but spirit and end's up with a bollocking because an hour ago you said "yes" when the wife asked if you had the changing bag but what you really meant was "I am not listening, I am in lazy dad mode"! I have impressed myself at the speed at which I have managed to switch back into it but am secretly relishing the idea of getting my old job back.

At this juncture I feel it would be appropriate to try and put some meat on the bones of the title of today's blog. I have been involved in my first crash! It was bound to happen. Believing that I could just jump on my bike and ride around the lawlessness of Delhi's highway's, with no repercussion's was clearly insane. I had cycled to the shop to pick up some beer and was sweating my way back when the incident occurred. I was coming up to a t-junction to turn left and in true Indian tradition went to pull out without stopping to look. Unfortunately the rick in front of me had other idea's and elected to slap on the brakes. I managed to skid to a halt but the guy on the motorbike behind me wasn't so lucky.

All I heard was a screech and a crash closely followed by a baying mob shouting and screaming. The rickshaw hit the gas and disappeared in a cloud of dust while I stood there panicking. In India crashes are generally not settled as amicably as back in Blighty. They don't wander round each other's vehicles surveying the damage, while speaking on their phones and asking Churchill to sort them out a hire car. The baying mob usually makes a snap decision who is to blame then kick the living shit out of them before the police turn up!

It was with this in mind that I alighted my cycle and threw my arms in the air gesticulating to the mob that it was all the rickshaw drivers fault and not the little defenceless Westerner. It seemed to have the desired affect and the mob turned their attention's to the rick and it's getaway before calming down when the smell of blood disappeared. In the meantime I had approached the poor biker to find him lying on the floor with the bike squashing his leg. He was an elderly gentleman who seemed to be taking it all rather well. The mob returned and together we helped him to his feet and I began dusting him down and trying to explain how it wasn't my fault and please don't get this lot to kick my teeth in. It was while doing this that the man started to insist he was ok and that it was all no problem while pushing away my attempts at dusting down his shirt, so I turned my attentions to his trousers. I came across no objections to this and then realised why. My hand was no longer brushing against cloth and flesh but something harder, something less malleable, something... something... wooden. The penny dropped and I now realised why he had not been writhing around on the floor in pain. The bike had landed on his leg of mighty oak and probably done more damage to the petrol tank than him. With things's seemingly ok the mob dispersed along with my fear of a shoeing. The sense of relief was overwhelming! It surely couldn't be any better, I had been saved from a kicking by a wooden leg!

With lady luck firmly on my side and a skip in my step I - excuse the pun - hopped back on my cycle with a feeling of immortality and rode off in to the sunset. This is how it seems to be for me at the moment. Successful shopping trips with the m.i.l, being saved by a wooden leg, made redundant -all highly irregular occurrences I'm sure you will agree but all combining nicely to keep a smile on my face. Surely nothing can wipe it off in this fabulous city. Can it?

Where did it all go right?

2009-06-23T20:04:00.000+04:30

According to a 2002 study by the American Institute for Men's Health in conjunction with The American Heart Association, there is a good chance that becoming the indianhousehusband is going to kill me! It is a fact, house husbandry is officially bad for my health. The study found that "fathers that chose to stay at home have an 82% higher chance of heart disease"! How scary is that? My blood pressure has risen just typing it and I have started to projectile sweat - though that might have something to do with the fact that it is in the 40's for the 5th week on the trot- I am struggling to sleep at night and I am off my food. Do these studies become self fulfilling prophecies or is there some fact behind them? Further research revealed even more disturbing news. High achieving women are three times more likely to suffer a stroke! It appears that 'A' and I are seriously jeopardising our health by choosing to change roles. They give no reason as to why this should be but hypothesise that in both cases it is to do with increased stress. What is it that makes women feel the pressure more than men at work and vice-versa for men in the home? More to the point why do 'A' and I seem to be bucking the trend? 'A' positively thrives on the stress and I feel healthier than I have in three years (coincidentally since I last went back to work).

I was pondering these facts while travelling to the gym -in the vain hope it would lower my now ballooning blood pressure- in an auto-rick when I realised just being in the "rick" travelling on the manic Delhi roads was probably shortening my life expectancy so why worry about it. Unfortunately worry I did because you see that is what I do. Worry!! In fact that is what all us male Conde's do. Worry. If there was an Olympic event for worrying my dad would now be sir Jim Conde after winning 5 golds on the trot. I have always denied it but If truth be told I would be Matthew Pinsent to his Steve Redgrave. I worry about the minor things like Rafa breaking into a sweat (anything from chronic dehydration to Ebola in my eyes), to Iran developing a nuclear weapons capability (surely imminent if I have nothing else to worry about). I actually laugh at 'A' because she is a worrier yet this is just a big macho facade, the tears of a clown to hide the fact that life in general terrifies me. I do my best worrying on public transport on my own and thus started drifting into worry world on the way to the gym.

The worry this time is that I have never really been much good at anything. The fact that I feel more suited to being a house husband might have something to do with the fact that I have been crap at pretty much everything else. I am worried that if I fail the course I am about to do there really is nothing left for me to try! If I did find something new to try what would then happen if i was crap at that as well? Oh no the blood pressure is now sky high and I think I could actually pop it here in the "rick"!

A set of traffic lights snaps me out of it. When you pull up at a set of lights in Delhi you snap out of what ever you are thinking of because all of a sudden the draught stops and the heat hits you. It is a heat like nothing else, the sun beats down through the vinyl roof and up from the asphalt through the metal floors slowly roasting you. A drip of sweat on my legs and a tap on my arm from a child of Rafa's age begging makes me realise that life holds no fears for me. A huge amount of what you see in this wonderful country of contradictions makes you realise you have nothing to worry about at all. Most people reading this (if anyone does) have been born in to incredible privilege and should be hugely thankful. I now know that the path you choose doesn't really have any influence on your chances of suffering a stroke, no one can say what percentage chance of getting heart disease I have and nothing is preordained. It is all about how you cope with the day to day struggle that we all have and actually trying to enjoy it. When all is said and done I am tremendously lucky, reasonably fit and incredibly happy. I am just worried now it will all go wrong!!

De-constructing the house husband

2009-06-19T09:08:00.000+04:30

In my new role as Indianhousehusband (how much longer can I use the term new role)? I have become more curious as to the extent of house husbandry around the globe. I wonder if - as I think in some of my more paranoid moments - it is viewed as career failure on the male's part, plain laziness, a sign of weakness or just plain weird! I think all these thoughts have gone through my peers - and family's -minds when told what we were planning to do but discretion being the better part of valour thought again about voicing it. I have to admit that from time to time I have sat and thought about our reasons myself, particularly when- like this morning- I get 'the fear'!

The fear is an odd little idiom that arises some morning's on 'A's' departure to work. It is not a literal thing, just a small nagging doubt in the back of the head that suddenly screams:
"she is gone, now you are all alone, how ya gonna cope"?
It disappears as fast as it comes but it is there long enough to make an impression. I think it will eventually go for good and I now think I know why it happens. This is all essentially alien to us bloke's. We are not - so the scientist's tell us - genetically predisposed to looking after children, we just do not have that maternal instinct. There is probably an element of truth to this but as far as I am aware, it is not proven that women are better at childcare than men, it is just that we have not had the practice. Well this myth is about to be destroyed, trampled under the size 11 feet of the Indianhousehusband. I vow to Finally bring us house husband's out of the closet, liberate us from our shame. I am going to become the poster boy for the stay-at-home-dad generation! Once I can make a decision on what to give the boy's for lunch!

Now this is essentially the problem and mainly what the difference is between mum's and dad's and I don't know if it is instinct or just practice. 'A' always seems to be completely,effortlessly in control. She never seem's to have to think about what to do for lunch or where to take them for fun or even what to dress them in. When I think of lunch I struggle to get passed beans on toast and some mornings it can take me an hour to get the boy's dressed! Is it just me or is this the norm for all men, working or not? Is this a maternal instinct kicking in or practice and planning?

I think it is fair to say that house husband's in India are a bit of a rarity, a google search of house husband in India tends to turn up things like this:-

Woman found buried in basement of HOUSE, HUSBAND arrested.
Woman beaten to death in her HOUSE, HUSBAND charged with murder.

Or my personal favourite:-
A man who becomes a HOUSE HUSBAND in India has taken leave of his senses and clearly has some mental health problems! (quote in the Indian express)
Despite this it does occur, although less frequently than around the world. Canada would seem to be the most liberated place when it comes to house husbandry, mainly down to the parity in men's and women's renumeration. This gives the couple the option of deciding who would like to be at home rather than who has to. All very civilised I am sure you will agree and our decision was taken along these lines. Like our own Tony Blair, who made a Faustian deal with Cherie - and no doubt beelzebub - that whoever got elected to parliament first would be the one who's career they followed (even at the possible detriment of the other's equally high flying one). The only difference's being that our decision was about who could get us to India first and there was only really one high flyer in our house and it wasn't me! All things considered though I still prefer the Indian explanation of it all. It is typical that this fiercely spiritual country should come up with one word to describe how home life should be, GRIHASTASHRAM.

In the Hindu family there is a Griha swami who is the head of the house (the man) and the griha swamini (his wife). In our case 'A' becomes the Grihalakshmi (the wealth of the house) and I become Grihashoba (glory of the house). The Sanskrit word to describe my house-hold duties is Grihast which is derived from the word Grih meaning home. When things are working perfectly a couple are said to live in a state of Grihastashram which literally translates as nurturing your family young and old through the travails of life! Sounds perfect to me, forget maternal instinct, alpha male's, house wife's and house housband's, aren't we all trying to be Grihastashram's?

The coffee morning.

2009-06-16T08:39:00.000+04:30

I am back in Delhi after a flying visit back to Blighty where my mind was firmly put at rest. Not only is my mum doing great and being incredibly positive she also found time to feed me up and come up with a solution for Ghandi's heel, which you will be pleased to hear is on the mend. Sometime's only mum will do when it comes to healing ailment's. It is almost like they have 4 years at med. school built in to their dna structure, something the male of the species will never be able to match. Thanks again mum, it was great to see you.

The return flight was filled with equal amounts of excitement and dread. I was pant wettingly excited about the prospect of seeing the boy's and 'A' again but utterly terrified at the thought of my daily routine being demolished by the enemy of the stay at home parent, 'The other half'!! Will she have changed Silas's sleep times? Will she have remembered to let Raffi kick her in the groin for 20 mins in the afternoon to get rid of his agression? (he needs it as he has no peers to do it to). Will she have turned the mossie killer in the boy's bedroom on at night? More to the point, will they have had more fun without me? This is the real problem if I am honest. That little nagging thought that is always in the back of my head that I really do not want answering. Am I really any good at this house huband lark or would the boy's be better off with their mum?Can a dad seriously expect to be able to replace the maternal instinct? Would I ever know how to heal Ghandi's heel? I find myself wondering if mum's are ever riddled with the self doubt that I am currently experiencing. Do they ever sit on the settee watching Jeremy Kyle and think that the children would actually be better off with their dad? I don't think so but, perhaps they do and they are just better at hiding it. Normally I would throw this out to you helpful readers for the answer but now I no longer need to as I have joined the Delhi Network.

The Delhi Network is a support group for ex-pats of all nationalities which offers advice and support to the 'newbies' in town. They meet at a hotel very near us on a Tuesday morning for tea and cakes so I decided to go along with the boy's to see if I could meet some like minded fella's to bounce my new found paranoia off. I arrived in the hotel and was suprised but not displeased to find it populated by women only! The boy's and I had stumbled into the very heart of the beast that is "the coffe morning"! I can only imagine what the look on my face must have been like but I am thinking something along the lines of Mary Whitehouse being shown a video of Debbie Does Dallas, pure horror morphing into mild intrigue! Standing there looking like six o'clock half struck a lady asked if there was anything she could do for me? Resisting the urge to dive straight in and ask whether she thought dad's could ever do the parenting 'thing' as well as a mum's, I asked who I needed to speak to about membership? Within five minutes I was sat at a table with a dozen women, a jam doughnut and a large skinny latte discussing whether or not the Peter and Katie split was just for publicity. I didn't even know who Peter and Katie were and assumed they were talking about someone from the club. Then someone mentioned Jordan and the penny dropped. It is at this point when in my normal circle of friends that the the size of her tit's would come up but instead I commented on what an excellent business women she appears to be. Apart from Jordan I felt completely at home as we discussed what we do and do not miss about home, how important routine is for children and how hard it is to get a decent croissant in Delhi. Two hours fairly flew by and I found myself actually enjoying myself. Maybe it was the adult conversation that I have been craving, maybe it was the coffee, or maybe it was the fact that I was the only adult male and had two very cute kid's in tow and hence got quite a lot of attention. I am not sure but rest assured I am now a huge fan of the ladies coffee morning and can't wait for the Clarins make-over which is happening next week.

I think I am now gradually getting the hang of being the indianhousehusband. It seems that 'guilt' and 'easy option's' are essentially what it all boils down to. It is the easy option to give the boy's biscuits and chocolate rather than make them eat fruit but giving them the easy option makes you feel guilty. Watching Cbeebies is an easier option than making a spiderman mask with them but makes you feel guilty. Letting them entertain each other while you take time to surf the net is the easy option but again the hand of mr. guilt is always tapping on your shoulder. I am fast learning that when looking after the kid's, the more you put into it the more you get out. The easy option is not really an option after all. Feeling's of guilt are best replaced with the pure smug elation of watching them eat a bowl of fruit or jumping off the bed in their home made spiderman masks. If I can just learn to make cup cakes for my Tuesday coffee morning's and take an open university course in pre. med. I think I could end up being perfect! Got to sign off now as I need to look on the clarins web site and find a good face scrub before next week.

Ghandi's heel

2009-06-08T19:29:00.000+04:30

I have got Ghandi's heel. I know this because a gentleman at the chai stand told me. It never ceases to amaze me what you can discover at the chai stand. Ghandi's heel is a particular nasty looking problem where most of your heel skin rots away leaving it looking a little like an elephant's foot. It is known as Ghandi's heel because the great man himself was afflicted with the problem because of the thousands of miles over several years he walked around India leading his people from the darkness into the light. He did these vast distances wearing a pair of wooden flip flop's! Seriously, he made them himself and if you have never seen them Google it to see how uncomfortable they were, it is astonishing that he got from his house to the street below! It is with a fair amount of guilt then that I have succumbed to the same problem, seeing as how I have been wearing a pair of £1.99 vulcanised rubber Top Shop flip flops and have walked no further than from my house to the shops twice a day. It is a truly disgusting looking thing, not helped by the fact that here, you could wash your feet 20 times a day and still never get them clean. During our stay at our luxury hotel (don't want to name it for fear of arrest after this confession) I liberated a good 40 bars of L'occitaine soap which we have subsequently found out sells here for about £8 a bar! I have used about £200 worth trying to rid myself of Ghandi's heel but to no avail and am now spending hour after hour hanging out with the chai wallah in the hope of finding someone who can give me a cure. All suggestions gratefully recieved.

After my last desperate post, things have taken a turn for the better (despite Ghandi's best efforts). Better news has come from home but still I am heading back for a few days to put my mind at rest and hopefully cheer up my mum. We have also now managed to get a housekeeper called Indumathi who is only 3' 2" and could probably fit in my pocket. She uses a stool to get to the cutlery draw but is great for cleaning under the beds which she does without bending down. She is also a fantastic cook and is serving up the most amazing variety of spicy curries which has helped enormously in lifting my spirits. If the way to a man's heart is indeed through his stomach she could well be a future mrs. Conde. She was one of many we saw and at the money she wanted per year even the queen of mean, the ayatollah of low dollar ie Amanda didn't have the heart to beat her down! Oh shit, She has just read this over my shoulder and stopped my pocket money which means no chai hence no cure for the heel.

I have been trying to get my head around how the Indian roads work as we are contemplating buying an Ambassador. The Ambassador is made by the hindustan motor company of India and based on the Morris Oxford. It is pure Raj understated cool and I am very excited at the prospect of cruising round Delhi with the family in relative safety -compared to the seat of your pants terror associated with our daily auto-ric rides. The main problem is that I don't want a driver, I want to be able to drive it myself and in order to do this I need to get to grips with the roads. In an effort to do this I have decided to take the bull by the horns and pound the asphalt on my mountain bike which probably has the same risk factor as biking down Everest. Each manoeuvre could easily be your last. If the thundering traffic doesn't get you there is a good chance the heat and polution will. It is quite an experience and causes utter amazement at every set of lights to the gobsmacked comuters. I was told yesterday that the only people that cycle on the Indian roads are the people that have absolutely no other choice. I am doing it for pleasure, something they find very hard to understand. So far, what I have managed to glean is that pedestrians make way for cycles, cycles for motorcycles, motorcycles for auto-ricks, auto-ricks for auto-vans, auto-vans for cars, cars for busses, busses for lorries and everything for cows! There seems to be two basic rules:-
1) There are no rules
2) Always remember rule 1

The highway code will have to be completely rewritten to drive here, nothing we percieve to be right on the roads apply! For instance if you are entering a roundabout, those already on it have to give way to you as long as a) you are driving really fast and b) you beep your horn very loudly. It is compulsory to never stop at a t- junction and under no circumstances should you ever look to the right before turning left. It would also appear that at any time, if enough people try you can turn any road into a one way street. All that needs to happen is traffic to slow and if nothing is coming the other way everyone proceeds to drive down the wrong side of the road and anyone coming that way has to move over, (usualy on to the pavement). It is utter mayhem, cars seem to just fit with every other vehicle just sliding past by a matter of inches. I really don't know if it will ever feel "normal". Luckily for me I happen to have a ready made driver perfect for the road conditions here. Someone who has never really paid any attention to the highway code. Someone who (as anyone who has been in a car with her will vouch) has no sense of space and no fear. Step forward Amanda. Congratulations, you are my new driver!

Bad news Bad news

2009-06-04T08:54:00.001+04:30

Thought it was all going too well. Everything appeared to be perfect and yet yesterday it all seemed to fall apart and I had a meltdown of Chernobyl proportions! It's amazing how two pieces of bad news from Blighty can have such differing effects on the psyche of the househusband, one piece knocking me on my arse and the other picking me right back up again. I feel a long way from home all of a sudden and possibly (dare I even mention the word) HOMESICK! It is a very perculiar sensation, something I have never felt in all my time away before but I think I finally understand exactly what it is. India suddenly doesn't feel like home, albeit I am sure temporarily. I feel an overwhelming urge to be back with the rest of the Conde's at this time and am finding it all a bit overwhelming.

The first piece of bad news happened to coincide with my first really tough day with the boy's. I think Amanda used to find the monday tough after a weekend of the whole family being together and this Monday was a horror! All set to start pontificating on the ease of house husbandry and ready to smash down the facade erected by women who paint home life as hell on earth, I got stopped completely in my tracks. Unable to get my head around the bad news and with an unhappy hot baby and a Rafa like a coiled spring I gradually start to lose the plot. Unorganised, emotional, tired, hot, humourless and suddenly very lonely I find my patience wearing thin with the boys. I try to focus on what I have enjoyed so far but can find no solace, everything is shit. India, house husbandry, heat, children, cooking and most of all the 3000 miles seperating me from Mum Dad and Paula (my sister).

After two days of hell and using my usual technique for dealing with worry and stress -ie ignoring it and letting it gradually bubble to the surface - the erruption came over a bottle of cheap Indian white wine (so bad it has to be virtually frozen to even contemplate drinking it). Amanda as usual copped the worst of it as I ranted about my general hate for everything including her sensible, pragmatic approach to any problems. Sorry, PARTICULARLY her sensible, pragmatic approach to any problems. I had now decided (wrongly I hasten to add) it was all in fact her fault and that we should never have come here blah blah blah blah blah - hang on Natasha Henstridge is just about to get naked in the film Species on tv, a moments respite! - blah blah blah blah. I think you get the picture. After much blah blahing from me, a few tears, alot of patience and understanding and sensible words from my fabulous wife all seemed better again. I am left feeling some what pathetic at my lack of mental strength and worried that I have had a meltdown after only one month but realise the enormity of what has happened and vow to get tough.

All this was followed by my second piece of bad news which oxymoronically was a piece of good bad news! The good bad news in question was delivered by a good old mate who will never know what a tonic he was at just the right time. The guy in question happened to mention to me that work was terrible, bad debts were rife, sales were slow and margins were squeezed. Another ex colleague had suffered a particularly hefty bad debt and everybody was generally miserable. The feeling of schandenfreude was immense and though feeling desperately sorry for a really top guy that things were so crap, it actually made me realise how lucky I am to have this opportunity. How I need to stop feeling sorry for myself , sieze the moment and make something of the chance I have here. To understand how lucky I am to spend this amazing time with my wife and boy's but most of all, appreciate the fact that I am in good health and grow some balls and be strong for the person that is going to need me most over the coming months.

Red is the sign of danger!

2009-06-01T09:18:00.000+04:30

A friend of mine Jamie, swears blind that nothing red should ever be eaten. It is a fundemental fact of nature he argues, that anything red should be avoided when it comes to culinary matters and takes great pride in knowing that he has spent his whole life avoiding said colour (apart from once when a tomato was hidden in something from burger king). I once had a very animated call from him to announce with great joy that in the paper that day was a story about a boy who had died from eating a tomato! I can only compare his joy to what Ferdinand Magellan must have felt ,when after sailing the world for the first time proved his theory that the world was round and not flat! Justification at last!

You may ask what this all has to do with life in Delhi? Well I can reveal that I have finally found something that our 'dog in a bin' (Silas) doesn't like eating and guess what it is? Tomato! Bearing in mind he has so far been found eating rupee coins, ants, pigeon pooh, his own pooh and a reclining buddah made of plaster of paris this is some revelation. When you add to this the fact Raf has always had a loathing of the red menace, I have to wonder whether my boy's have been 'got at' by Jamie or he does indeed have a point. The problem is that I have had nothing to cook on for a week and the most readily available food for sandwich making is of course tomato. I am now having to chop it up really small and hide it behind large lumps of cheese as I try and squidge it in to Silas's mouth in the hope he will eventually grow to like it. Raf on the other hand is a lost cause and will no doubt spend the rest of his life harbouring some sick wish that someone dies from a tomato allergy! Jamie, I hope you are happy.

Along with the first of finding something Silas dislikes I have had a few of my own in my new role. Some, probably you desperate housewifes may have experienced, some I am sure you will just think weird. After going to visit Raf's new school recently I found myself drifting off and looking out the window as it started to rain saying, "bugger, I have got a load of washing on the line". I am not sure if I said it out loud or if it was in my head but either way I found the experience deeply disturbing. I ended up not hearing a word said by his new head teacher as my masculinity had a subconcious wrestle with my feminine side. Luckily I managed to stay just on the masculine side but then found myself having another first. Going for dinner after the meeting I used the word restroom instead of toilet in the restaurant! I hate the word restroom, it conjures up images of sprawling chaise lounge's and marble sinks which -as anyone who has been to India will know- is actually the total opposite of what a typical Indian toilet is like. I was horrified, it was as if I had turned into some sort of victorian British gent and hence spoilt the rest of my meal. The worst offence of all though was the following day when I morphed into my mum by using the phrase " you are not watching telly on a beautiful day like this" to Raf's request to watch spiderman. I froze on the spot, convinced for a split second that she was actually in the room. I have already found myself using dad phrases like 'wo- betide' and ' by the stars' but to start effecting the maternal sayings of my youth was most disturbing.

Instead of watching spiderman we went to the market and bought Raf a new cricket set which it proudly announced on the box was endorsed by champion cricketer Sachin Tendulkar. We played all afternoon (eventually interupted by a security guard from group2 enquiring if we require security? He didn't get it when I asked if they were half as good as group4!) and Raf is now convinced that champion cricketer sachin tendulkar is his full name! The box also informed me that the toy was educative, safe, non toxicative and non injurious to both life and health! I was very pleased to discover this and it is a great example of the Indian's marvelous twisting of our native mother tongue. At the chai stand yesterday, a well spoken Indian man used the word facilitatatively in conversation to me. His exact words were:
"The proprieter of the chai stand would like me to facilitatively converse with you in order to translatatively converse back to him, is this conducive to you sir"? They definately feel that the longer the word, the better whether it is correct or not. We also heard the phrase 'alternate gender love' used in the same sentence as quentin crisp and An Englishman in New York while listening to the radio! Clearly the word gay hasn't yet filtered into polite Delhi society. Any way I must sign off now to facilitate the rehydration of my body with ozonofied h2o before the too much hot sun becomes injurious to my life and health!
Namaste

The binmen always rings twice!

2009-05-28T09:56:00.000+04:30

Every morning 7 on the dot! You can set your watch by them, use them as an alarm call or ask them to make you some toast, they would do it for you no problem. You open the door and they come in to your kitchen, pick up the rubbish and off they pop with huge grins on their faces with a quick pat on the kid's head's as they go. Did I mention it is every morning? Sorry I am still in shock. None of this alternate week collection,micro-chip's in bins' and make sure the bin is no more than 5 ft off your property on collection day here in Delhi. This is all done for the princely sum of 150rps per month, about £2 in your money!

It is quite staggering to see the work ethic of the people here. Within 2 hours of being in our beautiful new home we had the following job applications:-

3 drivers
4 house-keepers
2 gardeners
2 front of house sweepers
2 back of house sweepers
1 security guard
1 curtain maker
2 furniture suppliers
3 cooks
1 babysitter

Now you may think there is some poetic license in this list but I can assure you it is true.,I have their phone numbers to prove it. If anyone wants them let me know, you could employ one of each for a quarter of the salary of a UK bin man! Here- in lies the fundamental difference between India and the UK. Everyone wants to better themselves, everyone wants to work, everyone knows the value of a rupee, everyone knows how to be polite and helpful and most of all, they all know how to do something that we have forgoten in the UK. How to smile!! Without exception, since we have been here everyone I have passed in the street has smiled at me or said hello. Rafa actually thinks I am famous! He asked me yesterday while walking around Khan market:
"Daddy why does everyone know you"?
I asked what made him think that?
"Everywhere we go people say hello sir and want to give you things"!
Obviously the people trying to give me things where in fact trying to sell me things, but hey why shatter the poor boy's illusions? He has 7 teenage years where he will think I am a complete tosser so a years worth of hero worship now seems a fair trade off.

So we are in our new house. I can finally sit on my throne as the Indianhousehusband, beat my chest and do some metaphorical territorial pissing! It is fantastic! More than I had ever dared imagine. "A" has done a fantastic job in finding the perfect place. For those that know Delhi we are in the South in a place called Shanti Niketan. If you haven't got sat. nav. just leave Connaught Place on the sth. inner circle, chuck a left onto Mother Theressa boulevard, straight over the roundabout, left onto Teen-murthi Marg, perform an illegal u-turn onto Panchseel Marg and you are there. If you can't find us just look for a crowd of people. That will probably be our gaff as people tend to que up outside waiting to get a glimpse of the the bohemoth babaloo or Silas as we prefer to call him!

In the first weekend we have employed a gardener, sweeper and house-keeper. Had sky installed, the marble floors polished, furniture telephone and broadband installed, gas connection done, air con and curtains fitted and found a chai waller! Can you imagine how long all that would take in the UK? It took 2 weeks to get someone to remove a safety tag off the incoming gas valve last time we moved house, we all ate pot noodles for a fortnight. So as you can probably tell life so far is superb, I am even settling into my house keeping chores with great aplomb. I am organised for the first time in ages. I know how many scoops to use in Silas's bottle, I know what all his cries and wails are, I know where Rafa's pants are kept, I know where my pants are kept, I can operate the washing machine and the oven and finally understand that some items of laundry need ironing and they don't in fact come out of the machine ready pressed. More to the point I now have the pleasure of saying to "A" when she asks where something is:-
"Why don't you look for it"
Revenge of the house husband is going to be sweet!

Emasculated? Moi!

2009-05-26T10:40:00.000+04:30

The Shangri La hotel New Delhi, a splendid example of how a hotel should be. Fabulous staff, first class food, luxurious surroundings and an oppulent swimming pool which was to be the scene of my first admission in person, that I am now a house husband. It was not something that I had given much thought to but it has become fairly obvious very quickly that ex-pat's and locals' alike, jump fairly swiftly to the conclusion that I would be that bread winner while "A" stays at home with the boys. We were befriended - all be it briefly - by a French couple who have lived here 4 years and use the hotel leisure facilities at the weekend. Things seemed quite amiable untill he asked the killer question.
" So what company have you moved out here with"?
It was the first time I have been confronted with the question and have to admit I thought about lying for a split second and saying Microsoft or Hewlett Packard but fronted up and replied.
" It is my wife's company we have come out here with"
"What are you going to do"? He enquired.
"I am going to stay at home and look after the boys"
I might as well have told him that I was a murderer. The look on his cheese eating face was one of pure horror. His eyebrows raised and his face distorted he said.
"So you will be dealing with all the shit"?

There we have it. In a nutshell, my future summed up by a Frenchman in a pair of speedos laying next to me in the kids pool. John Paul Sartre he may not have been but technicaly he was correct. I will be dealing with the shitty nappies and all the general shit that Indian bureaucracy can throw at me but do you know what? I don't care. I am really excited by it, not just the new way of life in a new country but having a hand in bringing up my boys. Watching them grow up and having a bigger input into the sort of men they will become and hopefully the lifetime bond that should come with it. House husbandry is going to be great if I can just remember to stop using dishwasher tabs in the washing machine!

With "A" up to her neck in it at work I find myself with long days to fill which is a doddle in 40deg plus heat when you have a pool, will it be the same when we move in to the new house? Time will tell but confidence is still high. The boys and I have taken regular forrays into the seedy streets of Parhar Ganj, visiting some of our old haunts and have reccy'd the area surrounding where we will be living (Shante Niketan). In the local market I finally got the beard shaved off while Raff had his haircut all for less than a quid! He also got a sharp introduction to the fact that chicken does not come in little packs off the shelf at Tescos enquiring:
"why is there smelly chickens in cages everywhere"
I didn't have the heart to tell him they were going in my Jalfrezi that night and told him they were all being sold for egg laying! The boys are settling in remarkably well and so far Raf has asked some pretty incisive questions about a place that is so far removed from Berko as to be another planet. A few examples include:
"Why do men always spit red"?
"Why do people with children always ask for money"?
"Why do people in cars stop and stare at us"?
"Why does India smell"? and my favourite so far.
"when I am a big boy will you build me a motorbike that can carry chickens"?
The answers all seemed to go in one ear and out the other but when I asked him what he thought the main difference was between Berko and Delhi, he thought about it for a second or two then replied:
"In Berko it doesn't itch as much when you get your haircut"!

So, great travel writers, politicians and philosophers of our time have struggled to come up with what makes our two great nations so different, yet my 4 year old sums it up in just a dozen words. What a genius.

I am married to Gordon Gekko

2009-05-21T17:41:00.000+04:30

The transformation has been astonishing! In the time it takes 3 boys to pack up a house and board a plane to India, my wife has turned into a power crazed cross between Anna Wintour and Gordon Gekko. Even I am terrified as she demands her driver fetches this and carries that (oviously the trousers are more often than not a pair of size 36 waist 34 leg grey Farah slacks in our house!) it is quite a sight to see. Have I stepped into some Stepford-like parralel universe? No, I am at Indira Ghandi International but this can't be Amanda can it? It appears so and I have to say it is quite a turn on. She is clearly relishing her new power and ready to exercise it at any moment. Is this going to emasculate me even more? Am I going to be scared to death by her? Bugger me is it hot?*

The journey was incredibly smooth thanks to Mr. Branson and his splendid upper-class facilities. I was obviously walking around like Jack the Peanut, glaring down my nose at anyone who dare ask if I had ever flown with them before. "Of course I had"
I said with indignation (lying through my teeth)
"just not with 2 bundles of pure kinetic energy wired to the moon on E-numbers, anyway what's it got to do with you? Fetch me a beer minion".
The last bit was a lie, I can't do it like Amanda does. I then went one step further in my plans to keep up the facade of "regular gladdy daddy upper class flier" and claimed I knew how to turn the seats into a flat bed (something I subsequently found out required a phd in mech. eng.) and was particularly unwise when I had 3 to do, one of which was for a teething squealing 10 month old! Luckily my pride was kept in tact by a hostess (disapointingly nothing like the ones out of the ads. she may well have been 25 when the first flight flew!) who did it all for me as I "had my hands full" Ahhh face saved.

The flight itself ended in a bit of a mess in that despite my best intentions and preperations Silly still managed to find a way to shit all over my new Ted Baker shirt. This was not the look I had hoped for when dis-embarking in the 40 degree heat of a Delhi summer. It is not often you arrive in Delhi and long for your first inhalation of fresh air but believe me, the slums and rubbish around the airport can't hold a candle to the arse of an 11 month old british baby smacked off his face on skittles!

The reuninon was breathtaking (in more ways than one!) and we fought our way through the traffic, heat and humidity to the sanity of our 5 star hotel. I immediately felt like I had come home, like visiting a place your now dead grandparents lived. You have memories of wonderful times there but now know nobody and everything looks slightly different. In the case of Delhi it is the huge amount of infrastructure being put in place, in the place my grandparents lived it is that Marilyn Monroe's has now become The Cock and Ferrett!

The hotel is beautiful but not the steaming underbelly that I long to get my teeth in to. There is also the excitement of seeing the house for the first time and a really nice Ted Baker shirt to get laundered! My excitement is starting to peak, just hope the boys are ok and that I can get my sleep deprived head around the fact that I am married to Kirk Douglas's son!
Namaste.
* The answers' are yes yes and yes!

3 men and a maybe.

2009-05-19T17:30:00.000+04:30

Maybe we're going maybe we're not. It really was touch and go for what felt like a long week. Amanda flew on the Sunday after a very tearful day leaving the three men to kick their heels in what was left of our home. It was starting to feel like someone elses' house, that we had decided to squat in for a few days while we panic over whether or not we will get our visas'. We finally get the all clear from the Indian high commision but still have one last cry-fest to overcome, Amanda's mum. I had a feeling it would be the worst goodbye yet and I wasn't dissapointed! With "B" in competition with Raf to see who could be most upset we said our last goodbye (Brief Encounter style on Northampton station platform1) and headed for the stay home dads' last bastion of sanity, the pub!!

Well obviously I had to let Rafa say goodbye to his best mate from nursery. The fact his mum is a writer and hence always looking for excuses why she hasn't met her deadline and that she loves a bevvy was not even in my thought process. Honest! We tried to have a civilised couple of hours "adult time" (something I am finding is essential for sanity) but ended up having conversation along the lines of this:
"so, how is the new book coming alon-Rafa stop shouting-g?"
"Not bad, the writer's block seems to have gone, how are you getting on with the bl-Ferg please be quiet for 1 minute-og?"
"really well, I am finding it quite cathar-Raf get off before you break it-tic"

After a lot of bad looks and a verbal warning from behind the bar we realised enough was enough and knowing my drinking pal spent a large amount of time in there necking with her new fella decided to head back to the squat before we were banned. Another 47 trips to the loft with boxes of crap later I was finally ready for my last sleep at what had been a very happy house.

Thursday 14th May. My last day in my old world! I really want to say that I am terrified of what lies ahead and that I wish I wasn't becoming the "house husband" but at this moment I am starting to allow myself to think selfish thoughts. Selfish thoughts about the wonderful times I have to come with my beautiful family. Selfish thoughts about new opportunities for me. Selfish thoughts about my undying love for India and its' beautiful people. Selfish thoughts about that first Kingfisher and palak paneer on Parhar Ganj. Get ready Delhi I am coming home.

Post natal depression for gladdy daddies

2009-05-07T21:45:00.001+04:30

I think I have post natal depression! There you go, I have said it and it feels good. My mum claims it is virtually impossible to have children without suffering with it in some form or another. If I am going to do this thing I want the full experience (to this end I have deliberately gone up a jeans size to see if I can go on the atkins and get into the pre-baby skiny Jeans) and at 9.45 this morning I think it started. This morning wasn't so smooth, particularly when you compare it to yesterday morning. Let me run you through yesterday, then today and you will understand why the pnd has hit.

Yesterday morning was perfect, the usual wake up, cup of tea, kids to nursery etc etc. It was while eating rice crispies (thats a lie,they are actually Tesco's krispy rice as I am now not earning) in front of the tv when unexpectedly Erika Eleniak popped out of a cake with her baps out declaring to Stephen Segal "you're not a cook are you"? The fact Under Siege was on at that hour of the morning was an unexpected bonus but also staggering. Have the people at film 4 caught on that there is indeed a nation of gladdy daddies out there all suffering from pnd? Do they think that all we need to kick start the day is a pair of surgically enhanced bohemoth breasts on the t.v? If so they are spot on! The smile could not even be erased from my face by a pile of ironing in front of sky sport news at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Gladdy daddies rock!

Compare and contrast this morning.

Silas wakes with the massive arse ache. When I say arse ache I mean AAAARRRRSSSSEEEEE AAAACCCCCHHHHEEEEE! You know the sort of sound I mean? Think detuned radio drowned out by the sound of a tomahawk jet fighter and you are getting somewhere near. How can such small beings make such large noise? It will be a constant source of fascination to me. Dealing happily with the noise (I am still on a Erika Eleniak high) I proceed to try and get the boys dressed. All the clothes laid out with military precission the night before have gone. I know what has happened, Amanda has moved them.

Do I call her?
No that will be admitting defeat!
Is she testing me?
Yes I think so.
Will she be chuckling to herself somewhere at the thought of me not knowing where they are?
Definately.
Am I getting slightly paranoid?
Possibly.
Is that because I have post natal depression?
Absolutely!

So there you have it, I am suffering from pnd and the reason why is because my wife hid the boys' clothes! I am going to write to the British Medical Journal and see if there has ever been a confirmed case of it in a male and if not, offer my body to medical science for study. At least that way I can earn some money thus getting some self esteem back and hopefully pulling myself out of this slide. Holy hell, only a week in and already struggling!!

According to my mum it is compulsory if so afflicted to move to Boston Lincs, start wearing open toed sandals and drink 2 litre's of whisky ever day (not sure if that is how everyone copes but that is how she said she did). So I am off to Office for some sandals then calling Kirsty and Phil to tell them we are now changing location. I will now be www.bostonhousehusband.com!

What is the torque required for a spare wheel?

2009-05-05T16:40:00.000+04:30

At last I know. The Mercedez Benz c220 estate sports spare wheel needs 80lb ft of torque to be secured correctly! "How do I know" I hear you cry? I have a Phil. You must have one in your circle of friends, everyone does. Genial, funny, solid, reliable, dependable but ridiculously clumsy! Thanks to Phil shearing off the locking wheel nut on my flat tyre, in his attempt to help replace it, I found out from the most cheerful RAC man in Europe that 80lb feet is the answer to my title question! The RAC man was very happy to be using "a right tidy new piece of kit I have isn't it" to remove the flat and went on his way even happier than me.

The final wekend before we depart was fantastic, it was spent in Brecon with the ever accomadating Taylor's, and could not even be spoiled by Sausage roll fingered Phil nearly making us extend our stay! Saturday night turned into an impromptu 80's night with Gus on the wheels of steel actually admitting to owning a 12" Johnny Hates Jazz record. The Sunday was spent recovering by lazing in the garden all day drinking even more wine while the kids took it in turns to whine. The only people missing on the lawn most of the day were Gus and Phil. Gus ducked in and out of the bedroom all day to relieve his hangover (though I think it was to hide his shame at the Johnny Hates Jazz confession) while Phil stood in the river Usk, knee deep for 4 hours getting burnt (he calls it fishing).

Finaly full to the brim and fed up of boozing we departed (thanks to rac man) back to our now post burgalry looking house. It is amazing that there is virtually nothing left in it (the removal men have now been) and yet it has never looked more untidy. The reality of our imminent departure is starting to hit home like a Pacquiao left hook and on top of that I am now unemployed and officialy the Indian house husband! I want to write that it is terrifying and that I feel totaly emasculated yet I am fining it incredibly liberating. A Tuesday after bank holiday while working would usually have gone like this:-

Woke late, feel shit, drive to work, have coffee, answer phone have a row with customer, bollock staff, have some breakfast, answer phone, have a row, bollock staff, phone customers, no orders,no work, shout at staff. Are you getting the picture?

This morning went like this:-

Woke early,made everyone tea,had shower, played with kids, dressed kids, took kids to nursery,had leisurely breakfast, vacuumed house, put on load of washing. Are you getting the picture?

I am really enjoying it so far and though "so far" has only been around 7 hours I am fairly positive that I am going to be a pretty decent house husband. Is that a statement that I should be proud or ashamed of? Will it always be like this? Why has Phil got such ham fists? These are questions I now have time to ponder. My head has been emptied completely of work and the vacuous fog that once stalked my frontal lobe has now been replaced with a clearly functioning, state of the art, multi tasking, dare I say it female like brain! At this rate I could become useful.

Tears before tandoori

2009-05-01T02:42:00.000+04:30

This is not how it is supposed to be! A week to go and the tears will not stop, I actually nearly cried while looking at a 4 pack of stella this afternoon. Everything seems to remind me of a life that I haven't even left behind yet.

I thought the last of the tears would have been at my parents house last weekend when we had a last minute outpouring of Niagra proportions. A stiff upper lip was the order of the day as we ate "the last supper" but I think we all knew the countdown was on in the sub conscious to the final goodbye. Sure enough we were not disapointed and the hugging almost became ritualistic, I even half expected Bruce Parry to turn up and start filming a documentary at one point.

This wasn't to be the worst of it though. I met up with the "boys" for a last champions league match/card school/start smoking again/drink your own body weight in lager/ cider/ vodka session. Not being a bunch of fella's famed for showing emotion it must have come as quite a shock to Aid when in the middle of Clapham High Street I grabbed him in my not inconsiderable arms and told him he was meee fuuuugggin beeezzzy maaate and allllways wid be, with a large tear in my eye. The fact 2 men were hugging on Clapham High Street didn't turn many heads so I headed for Tops but could see by the look in his crossed eyes it was not going to happen! Saying my drunken goodbye's to the lads and heading to the tube I found myself booing again! Will it ever stop?

It appears not. I have left work tonight for the final time only to arrive home and find a card from the parents telling me how proud they are of us all and how much they will miss us and ........... oh no there I go again, just thinking about leaving so many beautiful people starts me off. Am I having a last minute nervous breakdown? Is the pressure starting to get to me? Am I just as soft as a brush and yet quite in touch with my feminine side? I have no idea but will no doubt find out in the next few weeks as we have A's family to say goodbye to and a trip to brecon with gus rach et al to get through. Waterproof mascara all round, stiff upper lip, copious amounts of premium strength lager and pure adrenalin will see me through onwards to Delhi, I am ready.

Visa hell!

2009-04-29T21:57:00.000+04:30

With a little luck and a huge amount of paperwork God willing (or should that be the no doubt several dozen people sifting through our applications willing!) we should be on our way to Delhi next Thursday to start our new life. What feels like 10 years of planning though in reality is just a couple of months, has finally come to fruition and I will become the Indian house husband!

I have quit the company that I have worked for the last 16 years and am about to become a "stay at home dad" Piece of cake! I am firmly of the opinion that most mums sit at home all day eating doughnuts with their feet up watching Jeremy Kyle, I can manage that right? The reality really hit home at 9.17am today at a Tesco Metro in Bicester where I witnessed a dishevelled looking mother of three wrestling with a pushchair a cauliflower and a precocious 4 year old screaming that she wanted "ravioli and not that white muck". There and then with my ready meal for one a copy of four four two magazine and a yoghurt the full enormity of what I am about to undertake hit me. This might actually be tougher than I thought. Perhaps it won't be endless coffee mornings with American yummy mummies.Perhaps I won't after all be lounging around the pool at the Shangri La sipping kingfishers while the Maid looks after the boys.Perhaps I will start wearing un flattering trousers and start wondering if 1.30pm is too early to be thinking about a gin and tonic! The tension is killing me.

Before we get to that stage there is still the issue of our Visa's which are still not forthcoming.In true Indian beaurocratic style mine will not be ready untill the Indian high commision have confirmed that I did indeed get a D in geography in my 2nd year end of term report and that Amanda's third boyfriend was called Colin. Each day with a lot of help from The tkmaxx hr department we seem to be getting closer but the final dot has yet to be dotted and the final t seems to be equally elusive. Hope springs!

I have a friend who is a blogger for Marie Claire who has encouraged me to blog away and be as honest and as candid as possible.Though I don't know if I will be capable of being quite as "warts and all" as she is I am going to have a damn good go so be prepared for tears, thalli's, tikka's and traumas as I head off to Delhi and find out just how exhausting two small boys can be.