Faisal is still concerned about my eating habits. While I’ve managed to switch my sleeping schedule to reflect the work shifts in India time, I am still eating to North American hours. That means I’m usually eating a decent meal very late in the evening. After I described my normal eating habits, he’s even more confused. My normal breakfast of yogurt and V8 obtained the descriptive appellation of ‘pauper’, while my standard lunch of a sandwhich didn’t fare much better. I don’t think he was satisfied with any of my normal meals until I described dinner – which is usually a much larger meal (or ‘rich man’s meal’ in Faisals’ description to others). If you haven’t guessed, Faisal is obsessed with food and eats as often and as much as Drew. They’re two birds of a feather, Faisal and Drew – eating constantly, always wanting to know when the next meal is coming, and as skinny as rakes.

I did have breakfast at the center today – even though it didn’t match my normal eating schedule. Now I am full and can’t imaging shoving any more food down my throat. Faisal is sure to ask me in an hour if I want more food to eat!

The cafeteria at work only serves vegetarian food. Many Hindu’s will eat chicken and fish, but beef is obviously not on their meal plan. Goat is a popular meat in India as well.

Manish’s driver has not yet appeared at work and it is time to go home. I offer him a ride with me, and he suggests going to a restaurant he knows for an after dinner beer. The restaurant is in the Barton Centre on M.G. Road and is located on the 13th floor of the building. In North America, superstition prevents many buildings from listing a 13th floor. Instead, we tend to jump from 12 to 14 – as if the 13th floor doesn’t exist.

The highlight of the restaurant is its’ outdoor patio which overlooks the city and has a magnificent view. From there, you can see the government buildings, cricket stadium (which would put most CFL stadiums to shame), the Parade common, and a number of other buildings of interest. From our perch high above, we can see the cars parked hap hazzardly in the roads, and a large stretch of M.G Road.

M.G. Road is Mahatma Ghandi Road, and was renamed from South Parade Road after India gained its’ independence. On the right side of the road, there is a massive military parade field, and in the past the English used to parade up and down the road with regularity. October 2nd is Mahatma Ghandi’s birthday and a holiday in India. The festival is named Ghandi-ji (I hope I spelled that correctly) and as it approaches, everyone becomes more and more excited.

The restaurant is packed and we have to wait for a decent table. Manish states this is unusual for a Tuesday evening. Once again, I am treated to more culinary delights. I barely remember what things are called, but I’ve yet to have a single Indian dish that I haven’t thoroughly enjoyed. I think I’m in danger of being compared to Faisal or Drew, with my new fixation on food!

I tell Manish about the Persian silk on silk carpet I saw while shopping on Sunday. I’m certain Faranak would have loved it. The carpet was amazing, but at 42,000 Rupees was well above my budget. Manish has offered to take me shopping for a carpet tomorrow between work commitments. I hope my budget can afford this, since almost everything I have selected has been designated as someone’s Christmas present to date. I think a small India rug would make a perfect Christmas present for our house.

As we are leaving the 13th floor, I pointed out the cute little Hyandai Santo hatchback parked next to our taxi. Unlike North American hatchbacks, this one barely has any trunk space at all. When I asked where they put all their things, Manish advised that Indians don’t carry as many things around in a car as Canadians would. If you purchase something that is too large to fit into your car – a TV or furniture, for example – the store will have it delivered to your home for free.

Every few hours, the power will flicker and turn off for a few seconds. In the beginning, I was quiet worried, but it’s become normal for me. When I’m working on my journal, my laptop switches from power to battery and I type by the glow of my screen. Back home, it would be a mad scramble for flashlights – since when the power goes out, it’s usually out for hours – but here it’s just become another quirk that I’ve quickly adjusted to.

India is a country of extremes – from abject poverty to supremely rich. I think I shocked my driver tonight. As we were waiting at a light, a beggar came to the car window. He had a small child strapped to his body, and was knocking on the windows of cars. I have noticed this behaviour before, but they have never approached our car window in the past. Tonight, I asked him to roll down the window so I could give him some money. In North America, I’ve always prided myself on being willing and able to provide assistance to those in need. However, I normally wouldn’t give anyone cash in Canada or the US. In the past, if I was asked for money for a meal, I’d take the person to a restaurant for dinner and pay for any meal they wanted. However, as my driver was motioning him away, I couldn’t not look him in the eye and recognize his need. I have never understood how people could walk by someone else in need without acknowledging them. I would never survive in the big city. I do not want to ever be someone who can’t look another human being in the eye and offer assistance if needed.

My mother always chastises me on being generous to a fault. I blame it on my upbringing.

I’m up way past my bedtime, since it’s another 5am wake up call for me tomorrow. I’ll have to pick up my journal in the morning and continue with my adventures then.

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