Human Help

I live in a bubble. As I’m here for work, I have found that my life so far has been conducted within the confines of a corporate environment. I am still at the hotel - which is situated, along with my office, in a huge business park. The only available lunch and dinner options are those found in the food courts within the park. Globalisation’s hard at work here and is championed by Subway, Baskin & Robbins, Pizza Hut and the ubiquitous golden arches. My case work has prohibited me from exploring beyond the bubble.

There are a few things, though, which remind me that I am, in fact, in India. To begin with my office has a peculiar amenity called ‘pantry’. This is a euphemism for the superfluity of waiting labour here to fulfil any need the professional staff may have. Food (both purchase and preparation), laundry and any other menial tasks can be left to these guys and can be taken care of without leaving your seat. Another effect of the oversupply of cheap labour can be seen in the extreme cleanliness of everything. Hundreds of people are forever hurrying around with an assortment of cleaning weaponry, eager to buff the wall you just leant against. There’s even a whole team that pulled the short straw for cleaning detail as they’re permanently stationed in the john. You’re never alone in India…

The other ever-present reminder is the different worlds people live in. There is the bubble-like existence I’ve been plugged into, and then there is the impoverishment that exists on the doorstep of my office building. Every morning I drive by families washing themselves in the run-off from construction sites, who live on the side of the road in shelters made from rubbish. Perversely, India’s catatonic environmental awareness is perhaps the chief reason why the destitute have any available building materials.

I expect all this to change soon as Bobby, Prameet (another Sydney ex-pat) and I will be moving into a house next week in trendy Vasant Vihar, in South Delhi. Many of the other ex-pats have commended us on escaping Gurgaon, as they have all grown tired of living in a corporate wasteland. Despite the attractive suburb, the hour long morning commute we will be enduring is a hurdle they’re not willing to jump.

Hopefully this commute will be made much more entertaining by Pritam, my new driver. For the first couple of days I was in the chauffeured care of Vijay, who I’d estimated to be one hundred years old. The problem was he seemed to drive like he wanted to last another hundred. In the cut throat world of Indian automotive travel I’ve discovered that one needs to drive like a hellcat just to get from A to B. Additionally, we had a language barrier that made many trips to and from work frustrating and repetitive. I’m afraid to say that this barrier also meant Vijay sat in the car all day outside my office as I couldn’t get it across that I didn’t need him to wait for me while I was at work. The poor man ended up sitting in his car for about 16 hours until I left the office to finally meet him. My colleagues have told me that drivers are used to waiting, and have pointed out that they are at their employer’s beck and call 24 hours a day. That said, Vijay has a family so regardless of his job I’m sure he would rather spend time with them than sleep in a car in a business park.

Pritam, on the other hand, does not need to be told twice that his services will not be needed until called upon. He has an excellent grasp of English that one could be forgiven for thinking was acquired from television commercials. Pritam’s an excitable man who floods the car with spurts of jocularity and extremely personal inquiry. Much of his conversation is peppered with enriching terms of speech such as “no doubt about it” and “you better believe it”. He is also insane in his interest of cricket – even for and Indian. As soon as he discovered that I am Australian he besieged me with an incredible command of cricket statistics. I started to panic when he almost managed to settle himself next to me in the back seat to talk cricket while he was driving. Once I’d calibrated my nervous system to better handle his company I was extremely pleased. I’d found my hellcat.

Interesting discoveries:

• My office fridge is stocked with cardamom and rose flavoured milkshakes – they’re actually very good
• Indian men hold hands as a sign of friendship
• As an ice-breaker, Indians will typically ask whether you are married, and will always follow up with ‘why not?’
• Last Sunday I visited the Red Fort, which is possibly the largest red thing on the planet after Ayers Rock
• Indians defiantly refer to Mumbai as Bombay

Administrative facts:

• Curries consumed so far: 5 (including one for breakfast)
• Gurgaon (where I work) is one of India’s special economic zones – being an area dedicated, politically, to accelerating export commerce
• Equivalent cost of a standard lunchtime meal: ~$2. This is grossly inflated as the food courts know they’ve got a captive ex-pat market

Song of the moment:

Venus, by Air.

An apt soundtrack for my drive to work.