New Digs

My employer is very nice and maintains a guest house in Delhi that staff can live in. However, for our own sanity, they suggest that we move out after two weeks, meaning that I had to find an apartment. I decided against going through Craig's List, mostly because I didn’t really feeling like getting murdered, but also because the Indian one isn't that extensive. I first went through brokers. But they demand a month’s rent for their services and were unable to find any place good: in fact, I eventually blocked their phone number because of their persistence in suggesting places over my clearly defined price range.

At the advice of one of the other RAs, I emailed a mailing list of other ex-pats in the city and got a ton of replies. Of the final three I narrowed it down to, each had a potential red flag: the first was a guy who worked all night and said his only social contact was with coachsurfers at his apartment; the second smoked five cigarettes in the forty five minutes I was there; and the third was a recently divorced women with three cats. I decided to go with the cats, because they are adorable and are unlikely to slowly kill me, as opposed to the first guy and second hand smoke.

Of course, inexperienced with these things, I was a little worried when I first moved in. Many people in India who seem to be doing nice things for you (e.g. giving you a nice room for a reasonable price) are actually trying to rip you off, so before moving in, I had an array of worries about theft, kidnapping, and ending up at the bottom of the Ganges. The night I moved in, my housemate decided to leave for vacation and gave me a key without knowing anything more about me than my gmail address and phone number, so I became even more suspicious and on guard. About half an hour after she left, after having immediately locked all the doors and windows, I heard a knock on the door. My paranoia was such that I almost feigned absence, but, hoping beyond hope that it’d turn out alright, I decided to open the door. On the other side was literally the largest man that I have seen in India, probably at least 6’4” and 300 pounds, and having recently watched an unhealthy amount of the Sopranos, he looked just like an organized crime enforcer. I gulped slightly, and tried to look tall and mean.

He leaned in, and said in a deep voice: "You have two choices: give me your money and your passport, or give them to me after I beat it out of you". Ok, not really. In actuality, he said: “Hi, I’m __, you must be Jeff. Great to me you, I’m friends with [roommate’s name]”. Relieved, I ended up talking to him for about half an hour, and everything has gone swimmingly so far. The area I’m in is called “Asian Games Village”, and it looks a lot like an American suburb, except with ubiquitous stray dogs and lack of consistent street lights. If I can borrow a camera from work, I’ll take some pictures.

On an unrelated note, I have grown curious of late about cuteness. Despite all the things the cats do that should be annoying, such as unzipping my bag to steal my muffins, attacking my legs, chewing on my laptop power cable, and tickling me when I’m trying to do work, my only response is to think about how OMG CUTE they are and try to rub their bellies. I don’t understand it. If I ever become a parent, I hope I feel the same way when my kids are trying to drive me insane. Especially since I can’t just pick up my kids by their back fat and put them outside when they annoy me, or at least there should be some kind of law about that. If I get a camera, a probably annoying amount of kitten pictures will follow.