I can't half pick em!

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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?