Lyrics for this week’s blontry comes
from a classic source: The Real Ambassadors by the Dave Brubeck Quartet. It
fits because once again Rae and I participated in the annual Ambassadors’ Meet,
which is sponsored by the Delhi Chamber of Commerce.
As you can undoubtedly tell by the name
the Ambassadors’ Meet, is a meet (Indian English for meeting, gathering) for
Ambassadors. To add a little color, it is held annually. Hence the name Annual
Ambassadors’ Meet. The idea is that members of the Chamber have a chance to
interact with Ambassadors from all the embassies and to build on or establish
relationships that may lead to business. In truth, I haven’t observed much fruitful
interaction. For the most part members of the various embassies seem to stay
clustered in groups with only marginal interaction between them.
Well, you say, maybe the idea is to get
a key official from the Indian government to speak; to provide a forum for the
presentation of international initiatives. Well, sort of and not so much, as it turns
out. There is always a Chief Guest who speaks. Usually this is someone high in
the Ministry of External Affairs, and s/he does talk about Indian initiatives
to expand trade. However, in a classic case of form over function, the
assembled throng never quits talking, or even turns so they can see the
speaker. Rather they continue their own conversations without so much as a
glance at the podium.
So, if the event is not really about
doing business nor yet for listening to policy statements, what is the purpose?
I can answer in five words: open bar and free food. With an emphasis on open
bar. If I am going to be honest, I think most of the Ambassadors don’t even
bother to come. So for the embassy staffs it is a chance to socialize with
plenty of free food and drink and only a passing glance at any business. I can’t
speak to the open bar but the food has always been pretty good.
The other thing that has been a
constant, although the specifics have been a bit different each year is a
demonstration of traditional songs and dance from various parts of India. This
has always been the best part of the evening, and it is entertaining enough
that people actually stop or at least slow down their conversations and watch.
This year the music and dance came from the North-eastern states of Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, and Tripura.
If you are familiar with a map of India, these states, also called the Seven
Sister States, are the relatively little cluster of states separated from the
rest of India by a narrow strip of land between Bangladesh and Nepal. In many
ways these states are quite different from the rest of India (as if the “rest
of India” is a monolithic whole) and more similar to the people of Myanmar and
Nepal than to the rest of India. In fact, except for a part of Assam, these
seven states were brought into India quite late, some as recently as 1987.
A band played
traditional tribal music from the Seven Sister States. The band accompanied
dance groups. The dances are not too different from the dances you would see from
indigenous groups from any number of cultures. One act was a repeat from last
year. Someone was brought up from the audience. He was made to kneel on the
stage. A carrot in his mouth, a zucchini on his hand some orange fruit or
vegetable on his head. A performer was blindfolded and given two swords. While blindfolded
he danced around the stage waiving the swords. Eventually he made his way over
to the kneeling stooge, err participant from the audience. Then with three swift
strokes he cut the carrot in half, leaving the stub in the man’s mouth and
sliced the zucchini and other vegetable in half without (at lease apparently)
hurting the participant.
After that
number, they had the participant lie on the ground spread eagle with what
looked like a squash on his stomach. The performer, still blindfolded, again
danced around the participant, stomping around the man’s extremities, his man
parts, and his head and chopping the ground all around him with a short handled
hoe. At the crescendo of the dance he brought the hoe down, severing the squash
without hurting the participant. MAYBE he could see through or around his mask,
but I wouldn’t bet on it. And I definitely wouldn’t have volunteered my head,
hands, and other vital body parts to find out.
Anyway, here
are some pictures that we took during the evening.
With no
further introduction, here’s Rae.
On a
completely different note, I’m going to share this weeks’ experience with
getting our, becoming ever more necessary, air conditioners serviced for the
season. We’ve been here for two years
and I’m not sure this annual event has actually happened previously. I will begin this tale by saying that I’ve
never been impressed with the managers who “manage” things around here. What they mostly seem to excel at is passing
the buck and doing as little as possible.
They didn’t fail in their management skills in this project either.
We have 8 separate
AC units, if you count the 2 in the basement.
Servicing each unit is a bit time consuming. It’s not like servicing the one central AC
unit that most of us have. Turns out
that the day before, our servicing, the manager was here most of the day
supervising the servicing of the AC units for the landlord’s two kids above
us. So, time to see if they can pass the
buck to someone else. That someone else
would be none other than Christina, who works for us.
I wasn’t too
pleased when she told me that the manager had called her to tell her our units
were being serviced and gave her the instructions about what she needed to do,
and make sure the workers did. Excuse
me, I don’t remember them paying Christina for her time. We pay her to help in the house (usually 5
hours a day, five days a week), not stand outside ALL DAY watching the workers
to make sure they do everything the manager wants done. GGGRRR!
When workers are in the house she usually watches/keeps an eye on them. Sadly this is necessary to insure that they
don’t leave with something that doesn’t belong to them. I appreciate her supervising while they work
inside, plus she is able to communicate anything that needs to be communicated.
Turns out the
manager wanted her to supervise to make sure the workers didn’t just blow all
the debris and dust out of the units, but rinse them, then wash the blades with
soap and water. I think that’s fine if
that’s what he wants done but I wasn’t pleased he thought this should be
Christina’s job. We only pay her to work
a certain amount of hours, and I always feel bad if she’s here over her
time.
I tell her
that it isn’t her job to stand outside and supervise them, and if the manager
wants that done then he should come and do it.
He didn’t come, and she still spent a good deal of her time helping and
supervising them.
I’ve mentioned
in the past how shocking it is to have people come to do a job and bring no
tools. This was pretty much the same scenario. They showed up, late, got a VERY wobbly, ladder from the back of our building and began working. Christina stood outside to watch. I watched through the living room window as
they began on the first of two units just outside the window. It was pretty scary watching the one worker
stand on the wobbly ladder and sway about 8-10“from side to side as he
worked. No law suits here; mostly they’re
lucky to get paid.
After a few
minutes Christina came inside to ask if we had an extension cord, NO. Somehow they figured out how to make their
blower reach. Next she came in for soap.
After she asked them if they were going to wash the blades with soap and water,
they said, “Oh yes… do you have soap?” YES.
Don't know what they would have done if we’d been out of soap.
I had a lunch
engagement and then went straight to teach my two piano students. They were still working outside when I
left. A bit before 6pm Christina sent me
a text saying the workers were done and she was going home. She’d come by 11 to meet them. I’ve never been great at math but even I know
that is more than 5 hours. Thanks
Christina for staying and sorry the manager thinks you work for him. One last GGGRRRR!
Failed to get
a picture of the poor swaying worker.
Namaste.
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