Emperor Shah Jahan and Adrian Peterson

“Oh, Delhi… I’ve been there a few times.  Now that’s culture shock… about as much as you can get… unless there’s a war” – Team Morrow of ESPN Fantasy

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There have been two moments in the last 72 hours that stick out and have made me genuinely excited.

The first, was my entrance into Red Fort.  This magnificent structure is not just a building or two, but instead a mini city within Old Delhi that was built in 1638 by Emperor Shah Jahan of the Mughal empire.  Before entering the fort, I decided to do the most touristy thing of them all… I got an audio walking tour headset.  Admittedly, I felt dumb walking around with a shitty MP3 player hanging from my neck, but as I went from stop to stop on the tour, I actually did feel like I was transported back into the 17^th century.  Ninety minutes later, with probably two gallons of water lost through sweat, I finished the tour with a huge smile on my face.  This (along with work, of course) is why I came here…

The other moment that sticks out is learning I’d have the first pick in my upcoming fantasy football draft.  I honestly feel that by owning Adrian Peterson, I’m already half way to a championship…

Now, I know many of you out there are probably thinking, “What the hell? Why do you care about fantasy football when you have this once in a lifetime experience to fully immerse yourself in culture?”

Because it’s an escape. 

Because living here is fucking hard. 

I love experiences like the Red Fort, and I love learning about the educational practices here, and I love navigating the city and learning to communicate with the locals.  But this is culture shock.  Before coming here, seasoned travelers would often look at me with a “good luck” face when they heard I’d be living in India for two months by myself and I’d never been overseas before.  They would often ask, “Why did you pick India for your first trip?!”

Even, ironically while chatting in an ESPN mock fantasy football draft, a member of our armed forces commented on this, stating, “Now that’s culture shock… about as much as you can get… unless there’s a war.”

Wow, as crazy as it gets besides a war. Read that again.

I couldn’t imagine doing this journey without two things: technology and back home hobbies.  While each day here is an adventure (and is tough sometimes), my ability to communicate consistently with Lindsay and my mom has been crucial to preserving my sanity.  Additionally, those back home hobbies, such as fantasy football, make the homesickness and occasional wishes of normality more manageable. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love being here and am incredibly grateful for this opportunity.  But, when homesick and entrenched in something so different than what you’re accustomed to, it helps to win the first pick in the “Boom Boom Fantasy Football League.”

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As promised, here are lots of pictures! You can click on the pictures to 'blow them up'...

Delhi Metro

Old Delhi at Night

Hindi Signs in Old Delhi... When It rains, fires start due the the craziness of the electrical wires

Outside of a Mosque in Old Delhi

Ruins near Hauz Khas... The "Soho of Delhi"

Hauz Khas

Hauz Khas

Pick Up Game of Cricket

Hauz Khas Cricket Game

Sunset over a Lake near Hauz Khas

Sunset from my Flat

Red Fort's Entrance

Intricacies of Red Fort's Structures

Architecture Influenced by Several Cultures

The Fort from the Outside

The Emperor's Quarters

Outside the Quarters

A Random Bank Advertisement... What's that Building in the Background?

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Thank you for reading! Hope all is well back at home.

So Woody Allen and a Catholic Priest Walk Into a Bar...

“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” – John Steinbeck

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Friday, July 19, 2013 9:00 AM

“Do you know what we’re saying?”

“No… I kinda thought you were leading this… you know, with the language barrier and all… what did Nidhi tell you?”

“She just said stop by and meet with the Father, talk to them about your project, and try to get them commit to you coming on Monday…”

“Oh… so we don’t have an actual meeting scheduled?”

“No…”

“…Okay…”

--

I’m neurotic.

There I said it… First step to recovery is admitting it, right?

I'm pretty sure I haven’t been this way my entire life (at least I think) and am not exactly sure when it started…

Perhaps when it was when I moved to San Diego for college, when I had to be ultra organized so I could balance both my GPA and my BAC.  Or, it could have been when I first started working with kids with autism.  They often require a fairly rigid schedule as some children on the spectrum become frustrated with unexpected changes, thus I had to be on top of everything throughout the day to avoid potentially tough behaviors.  Or, perhaps grad school… ohhh grad school, which in my opinion is the epitome of time management and stress.

Regardless of when ‘it’ started, ‘it’ is there, and while being anxious and worrisome can actually be a benefit for some people in certain situations (e.g. work/school for me), it can be crippling in a place like India.  

--

“Good morning, we’re here to hopefully speak with the Father…”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but we were hoping we could just take a few minutes of his time… Chris here is from UCLA and wants to talk to him about a project.”

“Ok, hold on a minute… take a seat.”

…

“The Father is ready to see you…”

…

“Hi, give me just one minute please.”

“No problem sir, take your time.”

(Awkward silence as the Father types away on his computer)

“Ok, what can I do for you?”

--

A large part of this neuroticism lies in the fact that I’m a planner.  I like to dictate situations, be organized, avoid surprises, and have everything go according to plan.  However, in Delhi that is especially difficult considering how long it takes to do everything.  I was told before I came to Delhi that everything takes twice as long to accomplish here than at home.  And while I understood this, I didn’t quite understand it until I arrived.  Even a simple task such as getting food is much more difficult here than in the United States, as on multiple occasions it has been the only thing I’ve done for an entire night due to all that is involved… especially if it decides to rain…

Now that I’ve been in India for over a week though, I’m starting the feel the anxiety, worry, and general craziness slip away.  Part of it certainly is finally settling down, that is, finding an apartment and getting a phone.  But, I’m also getting used to the day-to-day activities of this lifestyle. 

When I walk outside, I know it’s going to be 90 degrees with 95% humidity.  I know that rickshaw on the corner is going to over quote me and I’ll have to bargain him down.  I know that I’ll be able to navigate him to where I need to go even with the language barrier (Thank you, Google Maps!).

But even moreover, I’m realizing that being a planner in this culture is practically impossible.  You have to fly by the seat of your pants, work hard, and simply have the best intentions because at any moment, those plans, can come crashing down…

Last Thursday, just two days after my long journey across the planet, I come to find out my first school that I’m to work in has just decided to back out.  Enter inner dialogue freak out mode:

“What am I doing here?”

“How is this going to work?”

“All I want to do is learn and help.”

“I can’t speak the language.”

“They don’t want me here.”

… and so on.

I first applied for my grant for this project back in November.  I was awarded the grant in February, and got a preliminary list of schools on board for the project from AFA in March.  I had communicated with staff at each school about the project and each indicated everything was good to go… my plan was working out.

Then, I arrived and it fell apart.  My plan was no longer a plan.  Trying to stay calm, the wonderful research staff at AFA met to come up with some solutions and decided I should try to meet with the head of a different school, Father Anthony.  I thought the staff had spoken with him and set up a meeting for the next day.  This was not the case though, as I found out just moments before walking into Father Anthony’s doors that he had no indication we were coming.

--

“Well Father, firstly, thank you for having us.  My name is Chris and this is Deepali, and I’m a graduate student from UCLA.  I’ve come to Delhi to conduct a research study on Indian children with autism in regular education settings… and from what I understand you’re aware of the organization Action for Autism and have been a supporter in the past?”

“Yes, yes”

“Well, I was hoping you would be willing to let your school be a place for me to conduct some of my research.  I’d just like to observe some different classrooms that have students with autism, and will primarily be looking at the interactions and relationships they have with peers.”

“Ok, well, let me ask you something… what is the current research out there regarding autism? Last I heard there were some issues possibly with metals in the blood…”

“Well, Father…”

(Long back and forth with the Father on current research, how every kid on the spectrum is different, how their goal is to mainly provide emotional support, etc.)

“Ok, Chris… how long would you like to do the observations for?”

“Two weeks… and I was hoping I could start on Monday…”

“Ok, no problem.”

--

The longer I’m in this country, the more I realize I have no control over my world, whether it’s here or back at home in Los Angeles.  I can take steps in the right direction and try to outline some possibilities, but mainly just need to focus on enjoying the ride.  While this is a lesson I’ve already had to learn many times throughout my life, it is still one I continue to struggle with as I strive to challenge myself both personally and professionally.

In the end, I've just gotta keep remembering some of the best advice I've ever been given...

"It is what it is... somehow it will all work out." - My Mom

--

I’ve been at Father Anthony’s school now since Monday, and the children and staff have been nothing short of kind, respectful, and wonderful.

Yellow Mush and Igloos

"Merry decided that if there was no school for Neeraj, she’d simply have to build one." - Roy Grinker

--

It was hot, really hot. 

And not hot like, “Oh, the sun is beating down on me, I need to put some sun screen on” at the beach hot. 

No, not like that at all…

Outside, the sky was full of gray clouds, the same damn clouds that have been here since I arrived.  Just sitting there, holding moisture, creating humidity, and mocking me from above as I sweat my ocean-breeze loving California boy ass off. 

I’m in a small conference room with about 25 people, each feeling the heat as harshly as I.  The electricity had just gone out, and with it the fans that were our only savior from the monsoon season lurking outside.

I look down at my lunch, which composed of some form of pita like bread, some random pickled vegetables, and a vegetarian pile of yellow mush, all which had been purchased for a mere 30 rupees (about 50 cents).

Sweat dripping down my face and hoping I’m not about to get sick, I couldn’t be more excited to be there.

--

As I took a bite of the mush combined with the pitaesque bread, an amalgamate of spice hits my palate and immediately transforms into easily the best vegetarian main dish I’ve ever eaten.

I look over at the wall to see a huge poster with the manifest for “Action for Autism” (AFA), the leading organization for autism research and treatment in a country of 1 billion people.  On it are a list of the rights the organization feels individuals with autism are entitled to, as well as what appear to be signatures from researchers, teachers, parents, and children.  I speak candidly with several others in the room about my background, and am soon introduced by the center’s head researcher to the full staff which comprises research staff, occupational therapists, teachers, and teacher assistants.

Then, everybody ate family style.  Indian style potato salad (aka five-spice potatoes), a sweet and tart style yogurt, and my favorite besides my yellow mush: ‘lady fingers’ which were thin green peppers dipped in some type of other orange mush.  Even with the heat, everyone is gregarious and upbeat, simply trying to enjoy their short lunch break before getting back to the work they love. 

I meet the woman who started AFA, a kind, but assertive lady by the name of Merry.  Her story is amazing to say the least.  I first read about it in Dr. Roy Grinker’s novel, Unstrange Minds, a novel I’ve gone on to recommend to family, friends, and other people in the field.  It chronicles Grinker’s travels throughout the world to see how different cultures and societies view and tackle the issue of autism.  Grinker is an anthropologist at George Washington University in Washington D.C. and became interested in autism when his daughter, Isabella, was diagnosed several decades ago.  I actually had the opportunity to meet him last year and lead a class discussion after he came to talk about his work in South Korea.  Needless to say, he’s one of my biggest research influences.

But back to Merry.  Grinker spends the better part of two chapters talking about Merry and her contributions to autism awareness and treatment in India.  Her son, Neeraj, was diagnosed with autism in the mid-80s, and like any good mother, wished and wanted the best for him.  However, as in many other parts of the world at the time, there was little help and education on the matter.  So, she took matters into her own hands and created and molded AFA into what it is today.  

Here is an excerpt from the book where Grinker describes his first encounters with Merry.  I thought about including more, but want to encourage everyone reading to spend the $10 for the book and get the rest of the story.

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It’s 9 A.M. on a Monday morning in January 2005, south Delhi, India, and my taxi driver, having stopped three times to ask passersby for directions, looks as if he’s about to give up. He’s taken me to the right neighborhood, Sheik Serai Phase 2, but it’s a run-down area with few landmarks, and stray cows walking the streets. It’s bigger than I thought it would be, and I don’t have an actual address. “The place is called ‘Action for Autism,’” I tell him, “just above Mahavira Chemist,” but he says he doesn’t know this word “autism” and suggests we go back to my hotel. Ten minutes later, I’m the one who finds it, a small white banner  hanging from the third floor of a crumbling building in a Delhi slum, that said “Action for Autism, Open Door.”

I’m carrying a large, heavy box from IKEA. Before I left the United States, I had asked the director, Merry Barua, if there was anything I could bring her, and she had sent back an enigmatic e-mail reply, “igloos.” At first I thought it was a joke that I just didn’t get, but I decided to e-mail back for clarification. There was no reply. Was it a cooler she wanted? Was this a sarcastic joke about refrigerator mothers?* Maybe the igloo was a metaphor for India’s failure to provide an appropriate place for autistic children, a symbol of autism’s alien character. But then, knowing how much children with autism like to hide in tents and cupboards, Joyce suggested I go to IKEA in College Park, Maryland, where, to my utter surprise, they sold small, white, dome-shaped tents designed to look like igloos.  When I got to Delhi, Merry would say flatly, as if she knew they were coming all along, “Oh good, you found igloos.”

To get to the offices of Action for Autism, I go up three flights of dark stairs, past barely visible wall paintings of sea life, to a cold, crumbling group of dusty classrooms and a tiny central office where the director and her staff work cheek by jowl. One level higher, the teachers watch a dozen students play for a while before dividing them up into four small classrooms. Everyone is coughing and rubbing their eyes this morning, the result of a combination of the weekend’s accumulation of dust and the fumes of masala being fried downstairs. This seems like an unlikely place to find the person who knows more about autism than anyone else in New Delhi, a city of 14 million people, and the capital of India (pop. 1.1 billion). 

The founder and director of Action for Autism has no advanced degrees and no special training in child development. In a status-conscious country like India, she can’t even get invited to speak at scientific conferences. But Merry Barua has arguably done more to increase autism awareness than anyone else in India. Small and thin, with black hair, cut short but tousled in a stylish way, Merry looks most comfortable with herself when she’s wearing blue jeans and eating Domino’s pizza. In her tiny office suite, she’s totally in control, but she gives her assistants responsibility and decision-making powers. She darts from place to place but never seems intrusive. One moment she’s caffeinated, multitasking, all at once on the phone, proofreading a hard copy of a grant proposal, and, if the electricity and phone lines are working, looking for something on the Internet; the next moment, she is sitting quietly with a distraught mother who wonders if there is any place on earth for her son, a mother who, at least for that moment, feels she is Merry’s only concern.   

- Grinker, Roy Richard (2008-08-05). Unstrange Minds.

--

Lunch ends, and everybody goes back to their respective areas to continue to work with both kids and adults on the autism spectrum.  AFA has expanded quite a bit since Grinker’s novel, and now resides in a several story brick building in a small neighborhood of Delhi.  They continue to be India’s pioneers in research, treatment, treatment dissemination (incredibly important!!), and awareness. 

While this is amazing, and AFA as an organization is incredible in all it does, I can’t help but be shaken by the fact that this resource is one of the very few that all of India has… a nation that is estimated to have as many as 430,000 children with autism.**

Fuck.

--

Footnotes:

*The term “Refrigerator Mothers” refers to what “professionals” initially considered the cause of autism, which was a lack of love from parents, primarily the mother.  These “professionals” used this term for “cold” mothers who were supposedly causing the symptoms of a child with autism.  Dumbasses.

**Calculated through population records and current CDC estimates of autism prevalence

Organized Chaos

“I accept chaos, I’m not sure whether it accepts me.” – Bob Dylan

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I’ve been in Delhi for two days now.  Each journey outside of my safe house aka my hotel room is nothing short of an adventure.  The first thing I quickly learn in Delhi is that you as a pedestrian, have zero rights.  The right of way on the streets go from biggest vehicle to smallest vehicle with buses ruling, followed by the mini hatchback cars everybody seems to drive and auto rickshaws (which are my new favorite thing ever, more on that later), and then motorcycles and bikes, and finally pedestrians. 

EDIT: Can't believe I forgot, the right of way hierarchy is still the same except I forgot the true #1... Cows.  They get to go wherever the fuck they want and everybody dodges them.  Kinda karmic justice (see what I did there) that the creatures I've enjoyed eating all my life now get the right away every damn time.

From the moment you step foot near a road, it’s a real-life game of frogger.  Constantly looking both ways, one must dodge all of these automated predators, with the idea of safety via a “walk signal” being nothing short of laughable.  Even on the “sidewalks,” you have to pay attention because guess what, motorcycles have no problem with and will most likely jump up and ride on the sidewalks cruising within inches of you as you stroll along.  This was shot with my iPhone to my chest (to give you perspective on how close everyone and thing gets) and know that this was on a less crowded section of side streets, hence why there aren’t any buses.

Delhi streets are a practice of organized chaos.  Walking on the streets is certainly perilous, but riding in one of the automated predators is a bit different.  While the driving is crazy, with people often merging into oncoming traffic and lane lines being mere suggestions, there is a fluidity to it.  The car horn (as I’m sure you've noticed from the video) is used extensively and is a giant part of the process.  Strangely though, drivers use it mostly to say “Hey buddy, I’m coming up on your right” as opposed to the “Fuck you! Move!” I experience every day in LA.  

Whenever I’m in a car or rickshaw, I don’t feel stressed, primarily because each of these drivers grew up in this chaos and know exactly what they’re doing.  Yesterday, while out looking for apartments, I asked Deepali (an employee of the organization that is helping me get settled here as well as set up my project) how one learns to drive growing up here.  She told me the hardest part of driving in Delhi is the traffic/craziness and not necessarily learning the car controls (clearly), and said you start out learning early in the morning when things aren’t so crazy and then work up to peak times.  Makes sense… regardless, I thought at some point I’d maybe rent a car here, but now, not so much.

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Cows Outside My Hotel Room Window... Ribeye, anyone?

The biggest mistake I made prior to coming to Delhi was not learning any Hindi.  I had the illusion that since the British had been here for almost 100 years and that India was technically considered the largest English speaking country in the world, I’d be cool with just knowing my native language.  Well, I was quite wrong.  Communicating with merchants and taxis has been quite difficult.  The remnants of the caste system still remain, thus many lower income individuals only speak Hindi and if you’re lucky, a bit of English. 

Not only does the language barrier make things difficult for purchasing goods or travel, but India is also a bargaining economy.  Everything that does not have a direct price tag on it is up for bargaining… and even those that do probably are.  Furthermore, being fair skinned does not help in where the bargaining price point starts, as I’ve read I’ll be charged up to two and three times as much due to my "Caucasianess" TM Chris Osborn 2013.  

Yesterday, I spent most of the day with the aforementioned Deepali and her friend, Munish looking for an apartment.  And quite frankly, without their services I’d be royally screwed.  From one apartment to the next, they haggled prospective landlords in Hindi to find something in my price range which I had to already increase by $100 a month so as not to live in complete dilapidation. The place I ended up with isn’t great, however, it has a ton of amenities (gym, pool, cleaning service, high speed wifi, free breakfast) and due to the shortness of my stay, it was really the only option. Sigh.

However, after hunting for an apartment, Munish had to go to work but gave me his number and told me to call him day or night if there were any issues with the place or if I wanted to “party” to which I chuckled and promptly saved his number in my phone thinking of good times to come. 

--

After lunch with Deepali, I felt encouraged to be a little bit more adventurous on my own.  So, later last night, I decided I wanted some American food and needed to figure out how to get to a mall.  Instead of having the hotel set me up one of their cab drivers who would take me, wait outside, and then bring me back for more money than I wanted to spend (~800 rupees or $16), I decided to finally brave my first rickshaw experience.

Rickshaws are bright yellow and green, three-wheeled automobiles that are actually more of a hybrid between a go-cart and a golf cart.  I believe their engine even starts in the same fashion a lawnmower engine starts with a long cord pulley.  They are everywhere in Delhi, and provide the cheapest transportation for anything that is motorized.  This is what these bad boys look like:

Open-aired and seatbelt less (I'll be careful, Mom), they offer a fun alternative to your typical taxi.  Like taxis, they’re often bunched together on corners, waiting for Indian customers or the opportunity to rip off a white dude like myself.  I tried bargaining, and to some extant did ok I feel, paying 300 rupees round trip for 8.7 km, i.e. a little more than five bucks for five and half miles of driving.  Here is my first experience:

Definitely my new favorite type of transportation.  I will, in fact, be taking these often from now on. Kidding, Mom ;)

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That’s all for now.  As I finish writing this post, I’m heading over to the “Action for Autism” headquarters to meet the team that has already been helping me get ready for my project over the last couple of months.  I’m also going to get to see some of the research they are doing at the HQ which includes training parents of children with autism on different treatments.  I move to my new place on Saturday, look for a new blog post over the weekend chronicling that transition.