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Our greatest hits
Just joining our Delhi blog? You should catch up with our favorite posts, starting with our Bollywood poster.
Our other favorites:
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•The five-rupee showdown
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•Disappointment of the goat
Follow our tweets!
Latest Tweets from Our Delhi Struggle
- Coming in December... which is a great time to be in Delhi! Halwa at Jama Masjid... @twilightfairy 39 minutes ago
- Yesterday I sent an update about the book's release date. If you didn't get it, you're not on the list. Send me your email and I'll add you! 1 hour ago
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- ASIAN WINDOW: Taco Bell: Coming soon
- BNET: India: Riding the Backwards Brain Drain
- BOING BOING: Nehru Place, Delhi's amazing computer market
- COMPUTER WORLD: Is America ready for NBC's Outsourced?
- COURRIER INTERNATIONAL: En Inde, les expatriés ont leur mot à dire
- DECCAN HERALD: Sensory overload? They’re lovin’ it
- EXPAT INTERVIEWS: Two New Yorkers move to Delhi.
- EXPRESS INDIA: We Are Like This Only
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Monthly Archives: August 2008
waiting
My drive to work takes me underneath the NH-8 highway in Gurgaon. Traffic on this cantilevered behemoth flows by on cement pillars, toll-paying drivers unaware of the ground-level chaos that segregated from their smooth ride above: cars and rickshaws and cycles and traffic cops and homeless migrants jostling for space and passage and attention, everyone in a hurry and nobody moving at all.
In the cumulative hours I’ve sat at this eternal intersection, I’ve memorized the scene. I know the ripped circus posters; I know the cops with their Rajasthani mustaches curled up their cheeks; and I know the people who call the weedy median home: the old men, the tired women, the energetic children, the girl with the full-length skirt smeared with dirt but not enough dirt to hide the vibrant mustard yellow of the material.
We all share the same daily ritual: I sit in my car, the cops wave at us to wait or wave at us to go, the engines idle, the rickshaws weave through the cars; and the migrants sit and stare or walk through traffic and beg.
Last Wednesday, some new people joined the ritual: a woman, her naked son, and her battered suitcase.
She had the look of a person in transit. Her pale blue outfit shone through the dust that engulfed her suitcase completely. Squatted on the cement wall of the median, she was clearly waiting for someone. Her face spoke anticipation and excitement and even her son, young as he was, seemed to share. His posture was stunning: he sat straight up, a naked three-year-old with the manner of a guard at Buckingham Palace.
I wondered about her as I drove slowly past. What was she waiting for — A bus? A bike? Her taxi-driving son, making it big in the big city? – and how long would she be waiting? I imagined sitting on a pre-arranged corner at a pre-arranged date, waiting for someone, with no mobile to call my ride and no magazine to kill the time, far from home, with no way to know if the ride would be late and nowhere to go if the ride didn’t show. I have forgotten life before cell phones.
Seven hours later, there she was. Still.
I was returning from a celebratory lunch with my boss and my partner. Our bellies were full of what had been their first taste of sushi. Her face hit me. Her face jolted me.
It was the face of a person who’d been squatting in dust and exhaust for seven straight hours. She looked miserable. Her son drooped next to her, a flower that hadn’t been watered. I don’t think she’d moved. How could she had moved? I wouldn’t have moved. If she’d moved, she’d always wonder: had her ride came while she was gone?
The next morning, there she was. Still.
Posted in thinking about delhi
Tagged Delhi, Gurgaon, NH8, poor people in Delhi, sad story about delhi, waiting near NH8
“do one thing”
It has taken me a journey of thirty-one years and 7,700 miles from my birthplace to discover the single most powerful phrase in the English language. I did not learn it in the thousands of books I’ve read, through the thousands of hours of television I’ve watched, or from a loinclothed guru high in the Himalayas. No: the most powerful phrase in the English language is in common use in nearly every meeting, every debate, every exchange of ideas in India.
“Do one thing.”
You cannot dilute the power of these words — no matter how many times you hear it in the same meeting. Forty-five minutes of debate over whether the headline should be set in 24- or 26-point type instantly ceases as every head swivels towards the person who uttered the magic word. Mouths snap shut, eyes peer expectantly, and every mind thinks the same thought: “Someone’s figured out what to do next!”
“Let’s do one thing,” says Pankaj. “Let’s order both veg and non-veg.”
“Do one thing,” says Murali. “Set the headline in Times New Roman.”
“You have carpal tunnel? Do one thing,” says Shilpa. “Adjust your chair higher, put something underneath your feet, and put the keyboard on your lap.”
One thing can be ten things, but it’s still one thing: it’s clarity. It’s an answer. It’s a solution. It’s a way to move forward. “Do one thing” is so powerful because it implies an exit from this mess. “Do one thing” means that debate is over and it’s time for action. To argue with “do one thing” is to be against progress, against action. A “do one thing” solution is one that is presented not for consideration but for execution.
It works. It’s amazing. For twenty minutes you’ll be mourning the TV shows you’ll be missing and the dinner that will be getting cold because the meeting about the new tagline for the new server product will never end; and then suddenly someone utters the magic words, and you’re on your way home with simple clarity as to what has to happen next. “Do one thing” works even when “one thing” is as nonsensical as being tasked to “find a word for ‘IT’ that doesn’t invoke images of technology.” No one in the meeting realizes how impossible the task is because how hard could it be? All you have to do is do one thing.
customer service
We spent three days during our first two weeks in India searching market after market for a wireless router. Our landlord’s son picked up the phone and had one delivered in less than thirty minutes.
Whoa.
We come from a land of two-month waits for a dentist’s appointment (and cancellation charges if you don’t show up). Of surly cashiers who pretend not to notice you standing in front of them. Of supermarket checkout girls who will call their manager to complain about YOU. Of postal employees who separate themselves from the world by three-inch-thick bulletproof glass. Of emergency rooms empty of attendants, with nothing but a clipboard for you to put your name down. Of drugstore employees so notoriously bitter that our friend could dress up as one for the Halloween parade and yell at people and everyone who saw him — people of all races, from all neighborhoods, representing all income classes — immediately got the joke. (Here’s looking at you – Duane Reade)
But here…! When you need your teeth cleaned, you can make an appointment for that afternoon. If you need a new computer battery, they’ll deliver one to you. The video rental store will collect money from your house. The chemist will pull out every brand of toothpaste for you to examine. The beer store will arrange for a guy to carry your beer home. The bank representative promises to call you back with information on your account the next day – and actually does. Your accountant will come to your home. Checks clear in hours. You’re on a gurney and getting an IV ten minutes after you walk into the emergency room. And if you have a health question, SMS the doctor and he’ll call you back – he’ll even make house calls.
House calls, for Christ’s sake!
In the US, customer service is uniformly terrible because the employee has no stake in the outcome beyond their $4.25 an hour. The McDonalds guy will roll his eyes at your request for extra mustard because he knows his performance will have no impact on the billions of dollars the company will make, and because he knows the company sees him as a trained monkey pressing cash register buttons whose job is secure only until the company trains actual monkeys to do the same thing.
But here, there must be a clear connection between performance and outcome. From McDonalds to multinationals, people must have that personal stake in the outcome so sorely missing in the US. They must see every opportunity leading to more and better opportunities. Because why else would customer service be so good?
We come from a place where process is more important than result — and where, from McDonalds to multinationals, everyone strives to hide inside the process, to use it to protect them from extra work. It constantly amazes us to see people do their jobs well — and, even more shockingly, to do them fast.
Posted in living in Delhi
Tagged customer service in delhi, foreigner in delhi, shopping in delhi



