Vodafone Tuesday.

A couple weeks ago, I started walking home from work. Our weekend travels have kept us away from frisbee practices, and spending eight hours a day sitting at a desk makes my active little heart cringe, so I’ve taken to covering the three miles between the office and my apartment on foot to satisfy my minimum daily exercise quota. Aside from the stray dog that’s recently come to see it as his responsibility to protect the first major intersection on my route from me and being struck by two motorized vehicles*, I consider this a largely successful pursuit.

*By “struck”, I mean a rickshaw driver backed into me while I was negotiating with another driver in an alley, and a car ran into me yesterday while pulling out of a parking spot, apparently with his eyes closed. I have received a grand total of one bruise and two weird stories from these incidents.

I mention this because my walks have provided me with a means of observing and absorbing more of my summer home. One of my more profitable observations has been an advertisement I saw on the side of a bus for “Vodafone Tuesdays”. The ad was appropriately eye-catching and vague, so I looked up the concept when I got home that night. Vodafone, one of the major Indian cell service providers, has apparently teamed up with a number of restaurants and retailers in India to provide buy one get one coupons to be used on Tuesdays. All one has to do is text the appropriate code to the right number and you can enjoy two of any of a myriad of goods for the price of one. We experimented with this for the first time last week. Lisa and I successfully obtained twin iced lattes from Costa Coffee, and we brought home two medium pizzas from a local pizza joint for dinner. Which we enjoyed while taking in a double feature: When Harry Met Sally and About Time. Because it seemed like the day for things to be enjoyed in twos.

Yeah, we went to Pizza Hut. I’ll feel bad about it if you can find me one Pizza Hut in the US capable of making tandoori paneer pizza.

Today we’ve got our sights set on another coffee outing and delicious donuts from Mad Over Donuts, a donut shop originally started in Singapore whose mission is “to serve the best donuts this planet has ever known”. Judgment suspended, M.O.D.

Happy Vodafone Tuesday to you and you and you.

The baseball diamond upon which you stand is hallowed ground.

This will go down in the record books as the year it seemed the Fourth of July would never end.

Last night, the evening of July 5th in India, the US Embassy hosted an Independence Day celebration for all the US citizens living in Delhi. This seemed like a cultural experience too unique to pass up, so Mary Kate, Lisa, and I hopped in a rickshaw and rode over to the embassy district.

The party was hosted on a baseball diamond at the American Citizen Services Center. The place was covered in red, white, and blue with an abundance of balloons and a band covering popular “American” songs.

There were real beef hamburgers and free popcorn by the bucket.

In classic “American” style, the evening’s festivities included eating contests.

Seth and Lisa enthusiastically participated in the watermelon-eating competition.

When presented with the option of a pie-eating contest, I recognized it as an opportunity to acquire large quantities of pie at no cost. So I entered, grabbed my quarter of a pie, nibbled at it until someone won the competition, then grabbed what was left of my oversized slice, the barely-touched one next to mine, and four forks.

I’m not usually an apple pie fan, but there’s something special about a slice in the Delhi heat shared with friends.

The evening ended with fireworks and plenty of dancing.

Oh, and a raffle in which Mary Kate won a free trip for two to Jaipur in an air-conditioned car.

Conclusion: the embassy is a magical place.

Happy Sunday.

The weekend we didn’t go to the Red Fort.

As I was preparing for the summer I would spend in Delhi, many of the details remained vague or undetermined until the last couple weeks before my departure or, for some of them, until I arrived in India. The one thing I knew well in advance, however, was that the city had an ultimate frisbee team and that I wanted to be a part of it. After I settled in, I sent a message to the Delhi Ultimate Facebook account, got practice details, and, before I knew it, Mary Kate and I were meeting Jaidip, one of the captains of the team and the president of the Ultimate Players Association of India, at the metro station at 6:15am to go to practice.

The team is called Stray Dogs in Sweaters, named for the activity of a strange NGO that clothes the stray dogs of Delhi when the temperature drops in the winter. Practices happen every Saturday morning and Sunday evening with various informal meet-ups throughout the week for throwing and workouts. We’ve joined the team right as they’re gearing up for the Bangalore Ultimate Open, the biggest frisbee tournament in India. Next weekend we’ll be traveling with them to Bangalore to play three days of ultimate in south India. The jury’s still out as to whether or not I’m currently living out a dream sequence.

After our first practice, for which we were poorly hydrated and under-fed, Mary Kate and I went and got brunch with some teammates and then headed home to sleep it off. This past weekend, we decided to be a little more ambitious and planned to do some sightseeing after practice. We went to the apartment of our new friend Lisa, an ultimate player from Yale, and showered off before heading into the city in search of street food and aiming to make a stop at the Red Fort.

We wandered for a while before making a food decision, and eventually opted to make our first foray into Indian street food where all the locals seemed to be congregating. We each ordered dahi bhalla, fried lentil balls drowning in a sweet yogurt with spicy tamarind chutney and pomegranate seeds.

The difference in the time stamp between the before and after photos is approximately 11 minutes. Clearly no comment on quality of taste is necessary.

The menu board at our lunch stop promised mango shakes, but the cashier said, “I don’t have that” when we requested them. We were committed to satisfying our cravings for creamy mango sweetness, so we resolved to find a place to stop on our walk to the Red Fort. It didn’t take long to complete our mission.

Yes, they were topped with golden raisins, cashews, and shredded coconut. Yes, they were served in “for here” pint glasses of questionable cleanliness. Yes, they cost the equivalent of 66 cents. Yes, consuming that mango shake was one of the most blissful moments of my short life.

After we sucked up every last drop of mango ambrosia, it was a short walk to the Red Fort. We had been told that there was an entry fee, but we couldn’t find anyone taking money at the entrance, so we slipped our shoes off (this appeared to be customary based on our brief observance of other entrants) and walked right in.

The red tile was blazing hot. Someone had considerately rolled out these rope mats, presumably to preserve one’s feet from being burned beyond recognition. However, scratchy rope mat isn’t a significantly more pleasant sensation. Pick your poison.

These sweet girls ran up to me on the rope mat and began saying, “hello, my name is” over and over and over. I’m not sure what their names are, but I told them mine was Kati.

After sitting for a bit beside the algae-filled fountain, Mary Kate and I headed by metro to meet one of our teammates to go to a clothing exchange for interns that were coming and going and looking to get rid of some extra clothes. We each acquired some excellent finds for the low, low price of absolutely nothing. I went home with three full traditional outfits, all of which got some wear time this past week. I’m a happy camper.

At work on Monday, I was feeling a little curious and did a quick Google search. Turns out we did not, in fact, visit the Red Fort on Saturday. By turning the wrong way out of the metro station, we ended up paying a visit to Fatehpuri Masjid, a 17th century mosque on the western end of the oldest street in Delhi, Chandni Chowk. Apparently we were looking for the eastern end.

This explains the shoe removal, lack of general fort-like qualities, and men praying all over the place.

Happy Friday.

Don’t Drink Out of The Paint Cup.

On the morning of December 13th, there was a biostatistics final.

On the evening of December 13th, there was a raging painting party in a basement on Main street.

Sounds about right.

My international health cohort organized a party at this wonderful place called the Paint and Pour, an instructional art studio that encourages you to bring wine and your friends. So we did just that. It turned out to be an excellent way to blow of some steam and get some quality time in before powering through the rest of our finals and heading home for break.

I think the beauty of the whole thing is that it takes people who perceive themselves to be void of artistic skill and makes them all creative and stuff. Three cheers for broadening our horizons.

Oh, and, in case you were wondering, this one was mine. It’s leaning against my wall because I may have cracked a little plaster trying to hammer a push pin into the wall to hang it up. Oops.

Happy Sunday.

“You’ll wanna let that sit for a good while.”

I spent the afternoon working on the campus farm yesterday. I pulled a gazillion weeds, learned how brussel sprouts grow, and spent a couple hours chatting with a Swedish pharmacy student about socialism and immigration and education. The rain poured and I felt all at one with my body and the Earth in a glorious, hippy-dippy kind of way. It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon, working with my hands and playing in the dirt. And I got to harvest these lovely vegetables to take home and fill my belly. Although I won’t be eating that butternut squash for a while. Turns out I wasn’t innately gifted with the ability to perceive the ripeness of squashes.

Cheers to learning experiences and trying new things.

Happy Saturday.