Indian Samurai इंडियन सामुराई

 You were asking for it, IndianSamourai did it! Pedro, the return… 

My mission today was to purchase some kind of LED lamp. I waited a few minutes at the hardware store while the guy made a few phone calls asking around who would have stock. Meanwhile Pedro – who works there – was smiling at me and showing pictures of my cat on his phone to everyone around! Once I had enough, I asked for the material to be sent at home. Yep, in India you can get anything delivered at your door step! 

When Pedro arrived he offered to test the LED. I was first tempted to cut the scene short and get back to my movie. After all I trusted him! I supposed he had tried it before coming didn’t he?? But just to be sure I agreed and BAM. The adapter was missing... Note to myself: always test the goods before purchasing them! 

I took the opportunity of Pedro’s presence to ask a question regarding the living room fan. Since my brother left and I returned to the living room, for a month it is, I have spent most of my evenings with my eyes riveted to the fan, wondering if it will ever speed up. Though the speed was on maximum, it had not been making much wind. And I had a good reason for not having called Pedro yet: the fan worked. Not very well but it worked. And if I gave it to an Indian, there was a chance it would work better but there was a greater chance it would not work at all. It seems like we have a trust issue here! And yet I speak from experience… 

In Mumbai, you can’t live without the fan; you can’t breathe without the fan. It helps for the heat and the mosquitoes. A drug. The fan is your best friend until the day he decides to make itself heard and starts to make some TAC-TAC noise. If he continues after you give him a few BANG, your only option is to turn it off and sweat in silence! It is impossible. This TAC-TAC is some kind of sheer Japanese torture I tell you. 

And then sometimes the fan goes TIC-TIC. TIC-TIC is manageable with ear-plugs.  

That’s how I have been managing for weeks, waking up early every morning to the sound of TIC-TIC (which comes when the fan is warm), putting my earplugs on, going back to sleep, and finding it impossible to wake up later on on time for work...  

But well, Pedro was there... So while we were at it, I entrusted his (expert?) hands with two of my fans! My bedroom fan thus ended up in pieces and as one again.

Results of the game: my living room fan is now going full speed and the bedroom fan continues with its TIC-TIC. Not so bad!

For those who follow, I have been driving since June.

I have become expert in overtaking these bloody cycle-rickshaws but I still get a shock when the car in front of me suddenly pulls out and I find myself face to face with a cow, or a zebu, quite numerous in my industrial area.

My car is my freedom. I love it. I love driving. But more than that, it was quite necessary in such a big and spread city as Delhi. Here you get space (compared to Mumbai) but the price for it is that there are not too many things at leg’s reach.

But my car has also brought its share of hassles. Firstly you need to wash it every day otherwise you don’t recognize it. For instance, I have not been washing the roof of it for some time and it looks like it is wearing a white wig. Classy… Obviously, no one washes their car themselves – for 8 euros (500 rupees), anyone can do it for you. But I haven’t taken the time to look for someone and beside I like this intimate moment with my car. Except that it usually happens that I am in a rush and well-dressed when I have to wash it…

Small other hassles are there, like when an asshole flattens your tires regularly… The first time it happened, I didn’t realize I had a flat tire. A colleague of mine had to tell me. Alright, I had realized that there was something wrong, could just not figure out what exactly. So what do you do with a punctured tire in India huh?? Since I am a girl and quite tired, I would have liked to sit and cry like if the world had collapsed.

But a colleague of mine and our watchman took care of it and changed the tire. Then I went to the petrol pump but they didn’t deal in tires. They told me about a place that seemed very far – no change I would ever find it. So I listened to my conscience and went to the petrol pump next door. And here he was, the tire walla!

I was a bit ashamed to see a twelve year old change my tire in the dark night but he did it very well! It’s okay if I am not good at everything… He could not find a puncture and put back the tire. All this for 30 rupees (less than half a euro).

The next morning, the other tire was flat. I just went back to the tire shop and he took care of it. I go back regularly since I haven’t found out who does this…

And the best part of the story is that I take things with philosophy. I think six years ago, I would have blown a fuse and made a big scandal in the neighborhood.  Now I just go to the tire walla…

When I moved in here, I was full og good intentions … I really wanted to avoid the mistakes I did in Mumbai by not meeting the neighbours which I thought hated me but turned out to be nice when my cat forced me to talk to them. And eventually I did not go and say hi.

Well I did speak with the old woman of the ground floor (I had forgotten my key) but she was least interested, she only wanted to know how she could get in touch with my favorite Indian (they have common connections in the Supreme Court).

I also met my direct neighbour after two months of cohabitation. It was when a carnage had just happened: the stray cat which roams around in the building had smashed my trash bag and it was spread everywhere. I was cleaning (and not waiting for the caretaker of the building to clean as anyone else would have probably done in the building, after what I can see on my neighbours’ landings) when he came to “make me a suggestion”: “To avoid dirtying your landing, and mine, it would be better if you left the trash bag in the staircase. This way, the trash would not be lying in front of our flats when we have guests coming.”

Obviously I could help asking whether it would look better if guests had to jump over the trash in the staircase to reach our floor?? And to tell him that his “suggestion” was not solving the problem.

The following day I bought a very nice sorrel basket with a cover that I leave outside and if any trash of his ever lands on my landing, he will hear about me!!

But let us go back to the main topic … The day I received my stuff from Mumbai, I was quietly unpacking when I heard a conversation. I heard so well, it sounded like they were in my apartment! And they would not stop talking! I started thinking that they had nerve discussing like that right outside my door! And then, horror, I realized that they were in my neighbour’s flat!! The poor wooden door that separates us is of no use. Hell and damnation …

On top of that I was thinking of buying a sound system and I was not so comfortable inviting him to the movies, with the sound but not the images! However the home theatre proved useful to cover the chuckles of his chicks and his bollywood music (one or twice I stroke back with jubilation – my sound level is unbeatable!)…

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