Settling in

We've been here for almost two weeks, and it's funny what you can get used to. I am starting to relax around the housekeeper's insistance on swooping in and making the bed the minute I get up, and cleaning around me constantly. He mops the whole place every day for example. If I don't want to see it I have to go to the office early, and it's too damn hot. (I'll amble in later.) I'm over jetlag finally, and I'm sliding into my stay up til 1 or 2, get up at 9 or 10 regular hours. I can eat without feeling sick. I'm getting used to having housemates. I'm even getting used to the crazy heat and not running around outside in the day if I can help it (not that different from home in the summer).

The housekeeper and the driver are the two biggest freakout things to me. I felt really really guilty for the first week, having someone clean up after us constantly. His name is Hirin, and he's about 18 years old I'd guess. We started figuring out ways of being comfortable with the situation: tipping him, and letting him watch TV (ie: going into the other room so he doesn't immediately turn it off), and my failure to understand how to work the washing machine means that I let him do his thing, and it's OK. I have to say that this past weekend, after we destroyed the kitchen as is usual when making a traditional English breakfast (bacon, beans, toast, a fried tomato, and fried egg)he came in and cleaned it up before we finished eating. Which, I have to say: kind of nice.

Not being able to drive myself around is hard. The traffic here is so insane I would not even try it. There is no public transporation to speak of, and the autorickshaw drivers piss me off in their refusal to listen to my requests to use the meter, or even tell me how much they want before we go; they'll do it when the Mr. tells them to. I got out of four of them yesteray afternoon. I know, I'll probably have to just put up with it if I want to go anywhere on my own, but still. Being confronted with "oh, you're a stupid western woman" is annoying. I know they're not all like that: I have taken an auto on my own when I've gone shopping once.

The driver, previously referred to as Mr. N, is named Narasima Rau. He has a wife and two kids (I think 6 and 8) and is extraordinarily helpful. He knows enough English that we can understand each other. And we're figuring out ways of making our appreciation material, so tips for whole afternoons out, a pack of expensive smokes now and then, and as one housemate suggested, buying a bag of wheat flour, or rice, or some other staple for the kids when he takes you to the grocery store. He is reluctant to accept tips--hence the other forms of material thanks. We'll tip both of them grandly when we leave; we've been told that's customary, but that's still a long way off.

I finally went to investigate the "fitness center" that had been promised before we came out. I'm told I should go check it out and decide if I want to join (the company would pay, as part of the guesthouse thing: they'll also pay for one restaurant to deliver our meals here). Narasima takes me, and we go to the office and I say I'd like to see the facilities please. A dude comes and leads us up some stairs, we come out into a dark room with tables, and wait, is that, yes it is: "this is the bar" he says. Um, Ok. I think. Then we go into the adjoining room full of couches: "this is the family room" Right. It's all neglected marble floors and dusty ceiling fans, dirty whitewashed walls, no A/C. Dark, heavy, wooden furniture. Dusty, faded, red velvet upholstery. Up more stairs: The billiard and snooker tables. Another bar. Right, I think. There's been a serious misunderstanding. Another function room, with stacked chairs--like you see in banquet halls, folding tables. Thank you. Thanks very much, I say. Then we go back down to the ground floor. Fitness, the guy says. Oh right: its a dim, hot room full of sweaty men lifting weights. OK. Then we go round the corner, to a small room, just big enough to fit about 4 treadmills from the 80s and two oldschool stationary bikes side by side. Dim, dusty, two ancient ceiling fans, and so much dust I don't think anyting's ever been used. The next room over is a small dance studio. Right. Thank you very much, I say. Apparently this is a club, with a fitness center. And while it is only a 10 minute walk from the flat, I think I'm going to stick with doing yoga in the A/C comfort there, and climbing many stairs and walking in the little green park/footpath nearby.

Since I finished my book review, I think I will try in earnest to go buy some cotton so I can have some tunics made. My clothes are too heavy, and really I only brought about a week's worth. Whether Narasima's available this afternoon or not will determine just how far I can go. I'll take an auto to somewhere I've been before, that way I can give dirctions (go left, turn here, etc) and I can tell if they're taking me for a ride.

Hyderabad, it's becoming clear to me, is a small town trapped in a big city's body.