Most of our problems these days can be traced back to our no good, very bad driver Pardeep. He's not a bad guy. He just won't ever look us in the eye or speak to us. You can ask Mom. We're not making this up. And with a few of the experiences we've had in the last few days, I'm not sure if he has a brain in his head at all.
Last night we asked him to take us to the Russian Culture Center and gave him pretty clear instructions on what roads to take. The Culture Center is somewhere between India Gate and Connaught Place. But for whatever reason he drove around in circles between the two places for about an hour. Literally circles. There's the roundabouts that get you all turned around, but when we passed India gate for the third time, we knew there was something we were missing or this guy was missing. We kept asking if he knew where he was going, but kept getting a mumble that we think might have meant he did. Anyway, after passing the Russian Culture Center the first time, we had a nice drive seeing this lovely part of Delhi in circular fashion for about 45 minutes before we found our way back. Thank you, driver.
Apparently our driver friend doesn't think he's such a good driver either, because he's been telling other drivers we are looking for a driver. Today at least three (I've lost track) drivers showed up at our doorstep uninvited because they had heard we need a new one. One driver we interviewed a few days ago spoke English okay, but when I asked him to show me where we were on a map he was at a total loss. Another guy who showed up today works for an Irish family down the street but he wants more money. We're totally baffled on this one. But we do know this . . . the current driver MUST GO!
Another fun driver moment of the day: Today while we were at swimming lessons Rich had the driver take him to the Vasant Vihar branch for a church meeting. Then he sent the driver back to get us. He was about 45 minutes later than I expected and I was quite annoyed waiting for him in the 107 degree heat, but at least he came.
We left Rich at the church to find his own ride home because today we had a Young Women's activity at our house at 4:00 and I had promised to pick up four people. So when we got home, I pulled out my newest Hindi sentence: "sari do bajeh chalna hai" which I meant to mean, we'll be leaving again at 2:30.
Unfortunately, he didn't get the message right. When I looked outside at 2:35 to see if the driver was ready he was gone! The guard informed me with a smile that he had gone to get "sahib." He had gone to Vasant Vihar 40 minutes away to pick up Rich who was already home! And the silly man doesn't carry a cell phone like everyone else in India (though we just learned from his boss that he has one, he just doesn't have a charger) so I couldn't call to tell him to come back. All we could think to do was call a taxi. So off I went in one of those black and yellow ambassador taxis. The thing had A/C, it just wasn't cold at all. The windows turned out to be a better option, but at least I could communicate with this driver and he was willing to get out and ask if he didn't know where a place was.
One hour and several cell phone calls later for directions to everyone's house we had driven all over and had crammed 11 people--Alveena and her friend, Sister Beesa and her two children, Sister John and her two children, Carolina, the driver, and me--into the taxi and were hot, hot, hot. I taught the kids to play "I Spy" and blew on their necks to keep them from complaining about the heat. When we got there Sarah Jordan and her brother arrived and then Sister Amy Paul, the district young women president. Woo-hoo! Three young women and a whole gaggle of others!
The activity went well. I succeeded in getting out of teaching the kids to cook American food by asking Sister Beesa to come teach. She is a very good cook (she does it by profession in the American Embassy) and I learned a lot by watching her. I kind of had to stop watching her though once I realized I needed to play police. . .
Here's the chocolate part. One of the girls who came lives in a one bedroom house with her brother and parents with the kitchen outside. She was visibly impressed with our refrigerator, but after she checked out everything inside the refrigerator side and giggled at its contents (I'm not sure why), she looked at the freezer door with confusion on her face. I opened it and showed her that it's the place where we keep things really cold, like ice cream. Big smile on the ice cream. Then she pointed to the chocolate Easter eggs Mom brought when she came. At this point I made my mistake. I should have offered one to her, but I didn't. All I could think of was how Mom had paid $1 for each of those eggs (another story in and of itself that Mom will have to tell you) and that I didn't have enough to share with everyone who had come. So I didn't offer.
About ten minutes later I noticed two of the girls near the fridge chewing something and opening the freezer to get more. Chocolate! I told them if they wanted some of them, I'd be happy to give them, but don't just take them. One girl's face visibly heated up and her eyes watered as she swallowed whatever it was whole. For the rest of the activity every time I turned my back they were heading back into the pantry, or up in the boys room and shutting the door, or in the toy room looking guilty.
Argh! I guess being a young women's leader in any country is often about being a police. But avoiding theft in my own home really makes me a little edgy. I thought about confronting the girls before they left about what I suspected might be in their pockets but decided not to. It was one of the girls' birthdays, after all, and frankly, they tell me stealing is defined differently here. It is wrong, definitely, but I think in India it's perceived more as borrowing, not stealing. Especially when taking from people like us who have thousands more square footage in our house and a bank account with thousands more rupees (actually, though, we don't have a bank account with rupees yet--that's yet another work in progress that has already spanned months!).
This is a photo of Sister Trija John, the 1st counselor in YW and the former branch president's wife with her son Saranj and Graham.
When we finally said goodbye to the whole lot of them (sent them home with the driver who finally came back after 4 hours when we got someone at the church to find him and tell him to go home!), Rich realized he had missed an appointment with someone at the church and we both wondered aloud why we can't ever get it all together much as we try. Russell and Isaac had some answers later on, unbeknownst to them.
Russell's Answer:
It's bedtime. I call out, "Russell, can you please come upstairs and get ready for bed?"
He replies something in very high whiny tones I cannot comprehend. I am feeding Graham, so I ask Isaac to go to Russell and see what's wrong.
Isaac comes back and says, "Russell says he can't come upstairs. He's run out of gas."
Isaac's Answer:
"Mom, my leg really hurts!"
"Does it hurt from when you fell off your bike earlier today?"
"No, it hurts all over."
"Does it hurt like growing pains?"
"Yeah, I think so. Ouch, it hurts."
Maybe this week we can fill up our gas tank on Sunday, get a new driver to get us around without crazy mix-ups and keep on growing.
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