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Merry Christmas from the Land of Kings

'Twas the week before Christmas and our team at Lok was busy finalizing an investment proposal for one of India’s fastest growing microfinace institutions, an organization currently serving over 200,000 women borrowers below the poverty line and looking to reach over a million by next year. Once we finished up our work it was time for me to hit the road again and make the most of my brief Christmas vacation.

A side note - so far I’ve kept my discussion of Microfinance and my firm’s role in the microfinance sector to a minimum. That will change soon as we begin to finalize our first set of investments and I figure out how to make the most of this medium for commenting both on the microfinance industry and the Indian growth story in general. Expect some major changes to the site in January. Until then, this wikipedia page on Microfinance can get you started.

According to NYTimes columnist Thomas Friedman, "the world is flat," and a spin around YouTube and the blogosphere would convince most he has it right. Even TIME Magazine, the penultimate example of the mainstream media, has finally caught on, naming you (the individual) it's most important person of the year in 2006. But my brief travels here have led me to believe that there are parts of the world that are still mountainous, where religious differences, physical geography and the inescapable clutches of history pull time half a step backwards for every full step it takes ahead. I spent Christmas in one of these places.



Rajasthan, which literally means, Land of Kings, is a rocky desert state bordering Pakistan on India’s northwest border. Geographically, the landscape looks like a harsher version of America’s Southwest. Historically, its warrior clans could be more closely compared to something out of Europe’s feudal era. The Rajputs were known to possess bravery and chivalry unrivaled on the sub-continent. Their ovens developed a diverse diet sustainable in the desert, their engineers built mountain top forts that could withstand wind and erosion, and their armies fended off Muslim and British incursions for centuries. When finally overwhelmed and outnumbered, as was the case three times at one outpost named Chittorgarh, the Rajputs preferred suicide to submission, committing mass “jauhar” in saffron robes on funeral pyres rather than submitting to oncoming Muslim conquerors.

My tour of Rajasthan began on Saturday after an all night bus ride to its capital Jaipur. It was vintage and classic car day in the Pink City and the father of one of my co-workers hosted me, driving us around town in his "classic" Indian-made, 1960s-something (just a paint-job shy of the ferrari from Ferris Bueller's Day Off really).

The next day I headed off to the isolated little desert town of Pushkar, which besides being the location of one of Hinduism's holiest lakes, may as well have been hippy heaven. It only took tours of two streets full of dreadlocks and Yoga dens to figure out that this is where all those folks who disappeared in the sixties ended up. After a trip down to the lake and a visit to the main temple I found myself at the Pink Floyd Hotel - I couldn't resist after seeing the sign. But after walking in it felt like I had just stepped into the Wizard of Oz, or maybe the twilight zone, as “Dark Side of the Moon” started playing throughout the guest house the moment I set down my bags.



I spent Christmas Eve with some Australians and Norwegians who were also touring Rajasthan and got up around sunrise on Christmas morning to hike the mountain behind Pushkar's lake (a challenging 45-minute workout).

After my morning exercise I took a cold shower (the “Pink Floyd” was experiencing a power cut) and caught a bus to Ajmer, where I made visits to the Presbyterian and Catholic churches before settling down to a nice, if ironic, Christmas dinner of mutton and chapati at an open-air Islamic diner (the only place in town that served meat).

After a long 7 hour bus ride I was back in Delhi around midnight, just in time to get home and find the handle on our apartment door not working and all of my flatmates out of town. Thus, Christmas 2006 ended with me breaking into my own apartment through the window and landing on my own Christmas tree…yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus…apparently, its me.

...More to come in 2007

- Merry Christmas, Seasons’ Greetings and Happy New Year from the BankerInIndia

Anyone for Polo?

Back in Delhi this past weekend. Did a little Christmas shopping at the Indo-German Christmas market and found some unique holiday cards which I mailed back to the States today - thanks by the way for all the birthday cards I received last month. The week preceeding my birthday I was traveling for work in Gujarat and it was a nice surprise to come "home" to Delhi and find a stack of letters from half way around the world waiting for me at my flat - you should be receiving responses shortly via the sacred cow express.

On Sunday another American, my friend Virginia (who's from Georgia oddly enough), invited me to check out a polo match taking place at the army polo grounds here in Delhi, another legacy of the British. Cavalry Red, headed by Argentinian Martin Ravina, throttled Cavalry Green, 11 to 4 in the championship match of the Amity Charity Polo tournament. The event was free to watch but sparsely attended, so after the victory my friend and I had the pleasure of meeting the Argentinian star and congratulating his team.

Just a brief entry this time, have been busy at work and am making plans for a Rajasthani Christmas vacation in the Thar Desert. More to come soon - M

Gone to Goa

This past weekend I ducked out of Delhi for a brief holiday along the Arabian Sea in the old Portuguese colony of Goa. The lush green fields, rocky red cliffs, white stucco churches and sandy beaches dotted with meandering cows formed the perfect backdrop in which to sit back, relax and enjoy a different side of India.

On the 45 minute drive from the airport to our small motel, dirt roads carried us down hillsides and through swampy jungle, while our taxi driver dodged the ubiquitous dirt bikes which dash around Goa carrying Western hippies to the beaches and bars and Indian Christians to the chapels and markets. Once we reached our destination of Little Vagator, the Goan beach best known for its crumbling stone fort and burgeoning party scene, my travel companions (two other Americans) and I stopped for dinner and drinks at sunset, enjoying fresh prawns and sangria in the presence of a burnt orange sky framed by palm trees.

In a short two and a half days there we were able to see a wide variety of what Goa has to offer, from beaches to nightclubs, to a busy Saturday night market where I got to touch an elephant for the first time in my life (so cool!! felt like I was touching a dinosaur).

On the last day before flying back to Delhi we toured Old Goa, once the seat of the Portuguese colonial government in India and the home of the famed "incorrupt body of St. Francis Xavier." St. Francis Xavier, Goa's patron saint, was a Portuguese missionary who spent 10 years in Asia, 3 of them in Goa, building churches and spreading the faith. Following his death on December 2nd in 1552 his body was shipped back to Goa where it is said to have miraculously resisted decay over centuries without benefit of embalming. The feast of St. Francis Xavier takes place December 3rd each year, which conveniently happened to be the day we were touring Old Goa.

The town was decked out for the occassion, with a rickety-looking ferris wheel and a fairgrounds where you could buy everything from Jesus statues to tabla drums. As we left the area just before dusk, we passed by thousands of worshippers headed to mass under a big tent outside the Basilica Bom Jesus, the church where Xavier's body still rests today.

A Tandoori Thanksgiving

Last week I got several emails from the States asking, "What was I doing to celebrate Thanksgiving?"

I had no intention of skipping the holiday, despite being 8,000 miles from home, but with our apartment still lacking a gas connection for cooking, I was indeed thankful to be invited over to an early Thanksgiving dinner the Sunday prior by a fellow Washington D.C.-Area native. My friend Ananthy from Maryland (posing here with our roasted bird) gathered roughly a dozen ex-pats from around the world at her Delhi guest home - a small house for people in her organization, the PATH Campaign for Microbicides, which works on AIDS and STD prevention and other reproductive health issues here. In case you were unaware, India, along with South Africa, has one of the largest AIDS-infected populations in the world.

Besides your microfinance-venture capitalist narrator, our eclectic group of guests included a freelance photographer, a business journalist, a jazz singer, several IT consultants, a French restaurateur, and our host, the Hopkins graduate and reproductive health specialist. These people hailed from locales as diverse as L.A., Bangalore and Paris, so in a symbolic gesture to those for whom the Thanksgiving holiday was new, we took turns briefly explaining what we were most thankful for. I was of course just thankful to be in India and yet still enjoying a Thanksgiving dinner.

The food was delicious. Two French guests provided significant quantities of imported wine and cheese to get things started. While the meal included some creative improvisations, tandoori chicken instead of turkey and cranberry jelly instead of sauce, heaps of homemade mashed potatoes and Stove-Top stuffing cooked up by the photographer from L.A. ensured that the dinner tasted like Thanksgiving should.

We found out subsequently that the U.S. embassy here (a 20 minute cab ride from my apartment) was actually selling turkeys during the week. Unfortunately news here doesn't travel quite as fast as the auto rickshaws. Its starting to get cold in Delhi as winter is setting in, so I'm heading south to the beach this weekend. Next stop, the old Portuguese colony of Goa.

Rooftop Diplomacy

I'm trying to do my small part to keep up foreign relations...recently I headed to several rooftop parties held by Europeans working and studying here in Delhi. One night we went to a gathering near the main University here (JNU). Our host had cooked up some decent Indian food and was playing the sitar when we got there, and there was a very relaxed, college-like atmosphere to the place. People were on the terrace drinking beer, quietly conversing. I was the only American there, and soon after arriving I walked over to the cooler to grab a Kingfisher (India's Bud Light) and was introduced to a young Iranian couple sitting nearby. "Where are you from?" they asked. It took me a second to reply, an involuntary smile creeping over my face at the tension I knew was about to arise when I answered. Slurping up the foam dripping off my beer, I grinned, "The United States, have you heard of Virginia?" Like taking cues from a script, we immediately had to start talking, as if not to would be avoiding the obvious....."Wow, you're from the States? What are you doing in Delhi? What city are you from? What do the American people think of Iran, have you heard of my home, Isfahan, yes?"

I explained my background, the work I was doing with microfinance, how yes, I knew where Isfahan was, I had been lucky enough to have a Middle East politics class back in school (by the way, Isfahan also happens to be the site of one of Iran's experimental nuclear power plants). They had plenty of questions about the U.S., the elections of course, who Barak Obama was and what Americans thought of Iran. I tried to give the most impartial explanation I could of the U.S. Congress, how the three branches of government work, and I did my best to diplomatically answer their question about where the average American's concerns and fear of Iran stem from - "Hmm, yeah, you're probably right, axis of evil was not the best choice of words, although to be fair, I don't think he had a thesaurus nearby, and to be honest, he's not much of a wordsmith...but you see, on the other hand, we get more than a little concerned when your president disputes the Holocaust and mentions wanting to push Israel into the sea...see...?"

They seemed surprised and very pleased that I knew enough about Iran and Middle East politics to have a fairly detailed conversation and we were able to agree on a few things: spicy food is good, the story of Alexander the Great chasing Darius through ancient Iran is really interesting, they should try and come visit America and I should try and come to Iran sometime (I think I'll wait a few years, thanks). Although they certainly had a different perspective than I did on Hamas and Hezbollah, we had a good exchange which ranged from the oh-so-subtle nuclear issue to what a tour of Alcatraz in San Francisco is like. Apparently the movie "The Rock" was a big hit in Tehran. Note to the White House - take a lesson from the Cold War - we might be better off trying to influence Iran with McDonald's and MTV than our current cold shoulder policy. American pop culture and free trade usually do a better job of furthering our interests than political blustering and empty sanctions.

Though they were proud of their country, their culture, and very passionate about the Palestinian cause, they also expressed clear frustration with their own government (they're not the only ones...). They suggested that a few years ago when the reformer and popular President Khatamei was elected, there was great hope that things would change and Iran would begin normalizing relations with the U.S. When the ruling Supreme Council in Iran (a group of religious leaders put in place by Ayatollah Khomeini back in 1979) blocked all of his reforms and banned progressive candidates from running for office there was great disappointment and disillusionment with the political process. Apparently the populace, tired of political fomentation and revolution, didn't respond with protests to ratchet up the pressure on the government and subsequently they lost their momentum instead of forcing a conflict, and potentially, getting change. As a result, the conservatives in Iran took over and the progressive movement waned for a time. While the U.S. invasion of Iraq and world opposition to the Iranian nuclear program are not helping the reformers win support in Tehran, despite this, the couple suggested that there is continued frustration with the limits on political freedom, and in their words, the current regime there will have to open up the political process or face very serious popular unrest within the next five to ten years. They suggested that the events in Iraq and the nuclear issue have simply given cover to President Ahmedinejad for the time being. And as is widely reported, they confirmed that there are thousands of political prisoners currently in jail in Iran, that some have been there for as long as 10 - 15 years for such subversive crimes as leading student protests and waving controversial political banners.

I have some good pictures of us, and they were a very photogenic couple, but given the political opinions they shared with me, and given that one of them is a journalist who goes back to Iran regularly, I didn't feel comfortable putting their photos up on the web. I'm probably being unnecessarily cautious but I have no desire to test the prowess of the Iranian Internet police.

The photo at the top is of our host that night jamming on the sitar. On the right is my Danish flatmate and partner in crime here in India, Peter. Next blog to appear shortly (hopefully tomorrow). I'll be writing about my first Indian Thanksgiving and celebrating my 25th birthday overseas. And did you notice? I finally managed to insert paragraphs. Sincere thanks to my sister-in-law in San Francisco for her help.

Elvis in Camp Guru

As my first few tumultuous weeks turned into more stable and predictable days I started worrying I wouldn't have enough material to keep up the writing - it only took an election back in the States, and a trip to a Samagam (a Sikh guru festival) on the outskirts of Delhi to come up with all sorts of material and pics... The U.S. Elections - I managed to link up with a group of politically-active U.S. expats who were watching the returns real-time last Wednesday morning here (Tues. night back home). I will save my personal opinions on the outcomes for personal conversations, though I really wished I could have been back home in Virginia that night. The question people here were immediately asking was, "What does this mean for India?" (re: Visas & the U.S Nuclear deal). The day after the election the U.S. State Dept. made an announcement here that they were speeding up the issuing of visas for Indians trying to visit the States from the current 4-6 month slog to a 1-2 week process. I got several questions from people excitedly wondering how the Democrats were so effective at speeding up government. I informed them that this probably didn't have anything to do with the election, just a timing coincidence, which was later confirmed for me by a close friend at the State Dept. The other question was whether or not a Democratic Senate would approve the U.S. Nuclear agreement with India (a basic explanation of the agreement here ). The Indian government should be relieved that Bush repeated immediately following the elections that this was a top legislative priority. I also heard from the same "neighborly" U.S. State Dept. official with whom I shared some diplomatic drinks at the very classy Imperial Hotel this weekend, that Sen. Reid and the Democrats plan to work with Bush on this one. So at least for India, the elections simply confirmed that regardless of the party in power, the U.S. wishes to move forward with closer political and economic ties here. Camp Guru - Several weeks ago on Diwali while hunting for a bed in the furniture market, I met a young Indian (17 or 18) who spoke English fairly well and overheard me trying to negotiate with one of the vendors. Anxious to make a Western friend so he could practice his English, he stepped in and used some Hindi to help me negotiate. After saving me roughly $25 from what I was about to pay, I obliged his request that we share a tea and some food nearby. He called up a friend of his (similar age) and over chai, curry and naan they finally told me where to get a refrigerator and how I could avoid getting overcharged by the rickshaw drivers. We traded cell phone numbers, and for a while, I left it at that. But on Sunday I was getting sick of South Delhi and felt the need to get outside of the ex-pat, party-centric world in GK-1, so I took up an invitation to visit his home and join him and his friends at a Sikh outdoor festival up in North Delhi. After an hour-long rickshaw ride I made it up to Rohini, a very poor community on the distant edges of town, probably the poorest place I've ever seen in my life, with open sewers, trash mounds covered with flies and energetic little kids with no shoes playing cricket and riding around on rusty old bicycles. His home was a plain concrete apartment building, painted in pink and yellow hues that were slowly fading away, with small rooms and a central dirt field where I met his brothers and sisters. Unlike their precocious older brother, clearly the young pride of the family, they didn't speak any English. Looking for a way to overcome the language barrier I pulled out a couple pair of cheap sunglasses I had picked up in one of the markets. They turned out to be the perfect ice breaker, and once I got out the camera the kids were hamming it up like Bollywood stars, just for the 2-second pleasure of seeing their smiling mugs on the LCD screen after I snapped a shot. After a few glamour shots (at the top) we were off again in a rickshaw, eventually reaching a huge fairgrounds where supposedly a million people (I asked one of the organizers for an estimate) assembled to hear this Sikh guru and his followers speak about the earth, the sun and the moon, universal peace and harmony and all other sorts of Guru-type things. While I was less interested in the ideology of the whole thing than some of the members of the welcoming committee at the gate might have hoped - I had to politely tell two very friendly organizers who saw the only white person in a million and wanted to impart their enlightenment on him, "Thank you for sharing your views, I appreciate them, I am a Christian, just here to observe, Namaskar," - it was truly a amazing and incredible sight to see that many people, very respectful of each other, greeting each other, touching each other's feet, cooking up food and sharing it, all while songs and prayers were read in Hindi and English from a distant stage somewhere on the horizon and piped out to the masses from old WWII era speakers. I followed my friend to one of the huge open-air tents where his friends and family were eating, sleeping, singing, praying and living huddled all together for the three day event. I could tell I was a source of curiosity to people as we walked from field to field, to the washing station, then the mess tent, standing in line to buy bread for 4 rupees, water for 2, but it wasn't until I entered the canvas enclave where everyone was living that I felt like Elvis in Vegas. Without having done more than walk in and sit down, I was an instant celebrity among the children and their mothers. I got cheers and smiles from the kids for simply saying "Hello" and "Peace be With You," in Hindi. I'm sure the explanation for my rockstar status was the fact that a foreigner "ferengi," (an American no less!) was here in their midst, trying to speak their language, sharing bread with them, listening to their songs and happy to snap photos of them, without thought of caste, without fear or hesitation. But with a smile and a handshake it seemed I could tap a limitless reserve of goodwill. I'm speculating, but given the attention that my hair, skin and voice received from a few kids I'm fairly certain I was the first white person that they had ever gotten to speak with or see up close. I'm also fairly certain that while the broader group that was leading the organization claimed it was a very mixed society, with both rich and poor followers, it seemed to be more of a magnet for the downtrodden, the uneducated, and the lower castes of both Hindus and Muslims. To that effect, the group of onlookers was incredibly excited and roared with laughter when my Indian friend helped me piece together enough words in Hindi to joke that "I too was a member of their caste," (which I don't think was Brahmin by the way). I took as many pictures as I could though I'm not sure even they do justice to the experience, the grins, laughs and songs were difficult to capture in words or film. On another note, thanks for the emails and notes some people have sent in response. I'm glad to hear people are reading and remain interested in what I'm seeing over here. I added a map to the site on the right hand side. If you click on it you can see where people are viewing the blog from, how many hits so far, etc. The hits in Vietnam are coming from a friend and former co-worker of mine whom I used to commiserate with about cash-burning technology companies and insufferable i-banking hours back in the day. He too has moved abroad to work as a VC in emerging markets, albeit with a more traditional investment focus. He also has a blog, Check it out if you like technology, venture capital and Pho Noodles. Several people have asked whether I have ever heard of paragraphs. Yes, I would prefer to use paragraphs, and sorry if reading this has made you dyslexic. My limited C++ / java coding abilities have prevented me from figuring out how to change the template to insert returns. I should have studied harder in computer science but my friend Curtis and I were convinced we would never actually write a single line of code and used to fall asleep in the back. That was 5 years before I moved to India and decided to start blogging. Like some sin from the past coming back to haunt, computer science was the only U.Va. class I ever got a C in. It's just as well, there is too much to say about India to justify taking a grammatical breath.

The Grey Economy

The more you shop in Delhi the sooner you realize that the vast majority of consumer retail activity here, whether measured in customers, transactions, or even in absolute Rupees, is unreported, untaxed, and handled in cash. In the absence of major department stores or supermarkets there exists here a vast grey economy of bazaars and vendors with obscure names and self-made products. Transaction records are kept with pencils and notepads, with hastily scratched, illegible notes often serving as a buyer’s only receipt. Brand names like Subway and Citibank stick out like Western oases in a sea of carpet shops and vegetable carts. When locals talk about where the “posh” neighborhoods are, they inevitably mention places within spitting distance of an American fast food joint. For most shops in the markets, there are no posted business hours, no answering machines to explain where a store is located or who to call for customer service. My roommates' and my experience with this strange system has included delivery men who show up in the middle of the night, electricians who come and go without telling you what they are doing, and Internet technicians who tell you “it’ll take an hour,” only to have it take six. But for all its unpredictability, one constant exists. Networks of family-like relationships built over time exist between vendors of different sorts across the city – every baker knows a candlestick maker, every candlestick maker moon-lights as a travel agent, and every travel agent has a cousin who sells washing machines. We once asked a young clothing vendor with a good command of English for pricing guidelines on refrigerators here (hoping to get an independent opinion). He just smiled and nodded his head, “Yes, come with me, I’ll take you to my Uncle’s shop.” All of this leaves the wandering ex-pat wishing for a Wal-Mart or Ikea - some form of centralized distribution house for consumer goods, where prices are clearly marked, time is used efficiently, and customer service actually means addressing someone’s needs rather than trying to distract him or her with unwanted items or cheesy sales pitches. The great part about this is I’m fairly certain that more than a handful of these merchants hawking handkerchiefs and two-wheelers are the same ones benefiting from the micro loans provided by the companies we back…yes, there’s a nice touch of irony to it…so its with a mixture of amusment and admiration that I consider the economy that microfinance (at least urban MF) helps to fuel. But for all my criticism about its quirks, business does get done here. An extremely wide range of goods and services are available for very low prices, new companies (beyond just those in the bazaars) are being started, and the individual entrepreneur, rather than the state, is making decisions about production, pricing and marketing. This informal economic system, while far from perfect, provides a livelihood for millions in a country where not long ago, softball socialism was the rule. Despite a generation of attempts to foster economic development with protectionist policies, the growth story today in India is about what is happening in spite of the state, not because of it. Quite separate from the Bombay set (where the Sensex has enjoyed a monumental recovery since its fall last May) are the businessmen representing the other 90% of the country. “Bottom of the Pyramid” entrepreneurs, both the poor and the less poor, avoid formal documentation because the taxes and stacks of paperwork required are an enormous burden to small businesses. If every customer who comes to your shop to buy a phone, gas stove, or Internet connection has to fill out paperwork, provide photographs and purchase government licenses for you to make a sale, you’ll never make a living. When compliance here becomes too costly and intimidating for the poor and uneducated, savvy entrepreneurs move out of the light of bureaucracy and follow profit into the shadows. As I am witnessing in my own work here, the legacy of forms and formality left over from the British Raj has itself been a driver of growth for urban microfinance, as poor and often illiterate borrowers run away from the heavy documentation of banks and into the arms of MF groups. It took more than a week, multiple visits, two forms of ID, a letter from my boss, a copy of my contract, ten of my personal signatures and 6,000 rupees for this educated, employed American with more savings than a small Indian village to get an ICICI checking account. God help the basket weaver who wants a working capital loan. All of this brings me to mention the annual Indian Microfinance conference which I attended with my colleagues from Lok Capital this week in Delhi. Besides hearing speakers from various MFIs, NGOs, rating agencies and social investment firms, there were opportunities to meet with the entrepreneurs themselves who are leading microfinance into its next stage. While the approaches and business experience of these promoters vary greatly, there seems, among most, a common understanding that for microfinance to meet the estimated demand in India of roughly 300 – 400 million people, foreign investment is required and MFIs must be profit-oriented finance companies, not simply grant-based charities. That most microfinance providers agree on these points is somewhat of an achievement considering the sector’s origin. But that is where the agreement ends as opinions diverge on how profitable microfinance should be (where is Gordon Gecko when you need him…?), whether equity finance should be utilized (gee…I hope so), and who should bear the cost of growth and expansion (that’s us! the VC!). But there are trendsetters from Vikram Akhula’s SKS to the new mobile payment vendor FINO, pushing for standardized collection processes and training methods, and working to integrate new cost-saving mobile technologies. A last note, a few pictures below, one of Delhi’s India Gate, a monument to Indian soldiers lost in foreign wars and one from the furniture market. Notice the haircut going on in the front right…speaking of which, I think its time to get one, I guess its back to the furniture market…

One Loud Country Tonight

Just as I was getting more familiar with Delhi the city took on a new look and feel. Last week marked the beginning of the festival season, a time when the weather cools down, weddings are held and several Hindu and Muslim holidays are observed. The largest holiday, and the one that kicks off the season, is Diwali – a tribute to Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of wealth, and a celebration of escape from the Hindu cycle of rebirth. For many Indians, particularly children and the working classes, Diwali is a time to put down school books and tools, go shopping, hang lights in the trees, burn candles, shoot fireworks, and spend time with family. For more devout Hindus, the holiday holds a religious significance on par with Christmas for Christians. More on the origin of Diwali here. On several major streets neighborhood associations have hung banners asking the public to "Say No to Crackers." Not a jingoistic mantra against corn-fed boys from Virginia, rather a request that people not purchase fireworks as many of the ones sold in India are made using child labor. On Saturday night I was invited to join a co-worker and his family for their Diwali celebration. After a day of shopping in Nehru Bazaar (my first real experience with an Indian open-air market, full of spices and carpets and meandering cows) my friend drove me over to his place, periodically dodging the laughing children who ran into the streets, setting off ‘roman candles’, ‘jumping-jacks’, and all manner of ear-shattering fireworks illegal back in the States. I was introduced to his wife, sister and mother, and learned the rules of cricket from his father while watching Australia defeat England. After I observed their family give “Puja,” or Hindu prayers and offerings to the god Ganesh and goddess Lakshmi, we had a traditional dinner of mostly satvic foods, accompanied by the constant clatter and boom of fireworks across Delhi. "We are one very loud country tonight," my friend nervously joked as the blasts interrupted our conversation, sentence after sentence. Our apartment continues to come together, slowly but surely. It is big and beautiful but still very empty. I now have a bed and a night stand, but there are a host of items, from broken light switches to faulty plumbing, that must be addressed. The Diwali holiday made it difficult to get anything fixed over the weekend, but thankfully our landlord has agreed to send over workmen on Tuesday to finalize repairs. The next priority will be hiring a maid to sweep and mop the floors as dust in Delhi accumulates like snow in Tahoe. I had to pull out the Claritin pills to get a full night's sleep...just another challenge to life here. Another post in a few days, a discussion of the Indian consumer retail sector from my experiences trying to outfit an apartment...

Hello Delhi

After several months of planning and two very long flights, I arrived at Indira Ghandi International airport in New Delhi, India just after midnight on Tuesday Oct. 11. Following a two hour wait to have my passport stamped, I pushed my stuff on a airport cart out into the dusty Delhi night and a government-affiliated taxi driver pointed the way to his car. If you've never been to a third world country before (and before Wednesday that included me) arriving in India is a shock to the senses. The first thing that hits you are the smells, some good, some bad, all very pungent. On the highways, burning rubber mixed with engine exhaust fills your nostrils, but on entering the city, a mix of smoking kabobs, saffron and even wilting flower petals can be smelled and seen lining the crowded streets and alleys. The city is made all the more bewildering upon arrival by the dark night sky. Trucks decked out with Hindu symbols zoom past and stray animals look for food among small tent cities of the poor which are propped up against the walled enclaves that serve as neighborhoods along the highway. But despite the areas of poverty there are also nice palm-covered neighborhoods, sharply-dressed policeman and little children smiling at you as you drive by. The place is teeming with life and activity. U.S. cities seem only half-full compared to Delhi. There are two main forms of transportation here if you have at least 30 Rupees (USD 50 cents) to spare. Taxis, like the one I hired out for my first few days, look like British versions of the bubble-domed bug car from the movie Herbie (at the beaten up end, not the shiny beginning). The cheaper, and more frequently used method, are auto-ricksaws, three-wheeled green and yellow motor carriages driven by thin, grimy old men smoking cigarettes and eeking out a living one fare at a time. Everywhere you look there is traffic. Not Beltway gridlock or 70 mph California freeways, but rather a sea of little cars, motorcycles, buses, craft and wares-loaded bicycles, cows, caged chickens, children on foot and an army of auto-rickshaws that all weave their way through cracks in the metal and flesh, never fully stopping, and only really yielding when the oncoming object is much larger. Rather than waiting their turn, drivers just honk and honk and then finally dodge each other like Blue Angels pilots, turning safely at the last moment before a crash looks inevitable. It's terrifying at first and thrilling once you see it all seeming to work, with vehicles and pedestrians all anticipating each other, as if following some unwritten rules of the road. My place of residence while I hunt for an apartment is the first floor of a guest house provided by the founder of Lok Capital (www.lokcapital.com), Rajiv Lall, who I shared lunch with on Friday after I arrived. The house is south of the city center and takes roughly thirty minutes to get to and from but is comfortably furnished and staffed with three servants that take care of everything. In a scheme that seems to follow a caste or age seniority system, the oldest man's job is to cook (breakfast and dinner) while another makes tea and brings me the newspaper each morning and a third cleans the place and does my laundry. Three grown men, whose job for the week is to wait on my every need. I'm all for specialization of labor, but this is a little different from what Henry Ford had in mind. While none of them speak English, they are all very polite and we communicate through smiles and broken "Hinglish" (Hindi mixed with English "yes's, no's and thank you's"). But to an outgoing, self-starter American, it feels strange and unnatural to be waited on hand-and-foot and to sit down to elaborate spreads, only to dine silently alone at a big dining room table in a big house. My office is nice and in an upscale central area of the city, near the Delhi Golf Course. While the space is smaller, the computers, equipment and furnishings are all on par with those from my old investment bank in San Francisco, and it includes a large conference room and balcony where lunch is brought in daily. I've spent the last four days following around Indian apartment brokers from neighborhood to neighborhood and meeting with fellow ex-pats to line up housing, and while the details of my flat shopping aren't worth delving into, one benefit has been that I've quickly gotten a sense of both the city layout and the Indian art of price negotiating. If you've got white skin here you might as well have dollar signs imprinted on your forehead and you have to assume that every price you are quoted, whether for a rickshaw ride or an apartment, is roughly 30% more than what a local would pay. A couple of nice highlights from my first week here: On Thursday night I was invited over to dinner at my co-worker Shakshi's apartment, where she and her husband explained Bollywood movies and music to me and hosted me for home-cooked Indian food and Kingfisher beers. Friday night my boss from Lok Capital asked me to attend, in his stead, a small dinner and conference at the very posh Claridges hotel in central Delhi (www.claridges-hotels.com/Delhi) where professors from the Asian Institute of Management were giving a presentation on the Indian economy. And finally Saturday I met up at a Middle-Eastern restaurant with my friend from the U.S., Priya Parker, who introduced me to several other young U.S. ex-pats living here in Delhi, including people from the U.S. Embassy, Bain Consulting and American Express. A last minute addition to my first post...the photo at the top of the page was taken inside an auto rickshaw with some of my new housemates - there are four of us in all. They are European ex-pats I met through Craigslist who also just moved here. We met up and found housing together over the weekend - more on our new place next week after we move in, but it's a 4 bedroom flat in South Delhi with a huge gameroom and rooftop terrace, perfect for entertaining. Thats all for now. Bookmark this site (www.bankerinindia.blogspot.com) and check back once a week if you're interested in hearing more. I'll try to keep my updates brief, and since I've got a fairly diverse audience I will also try to write about different things each week. Sometimes I will just describe daily life here and other times I'll try to give a picture of the economic changes taking place and my work in microfinance. Until then, "Namaste" -M