I got an email inviting me – and any American Citizen – to the July 4th party at the U.S. Embassy on Saturday night. (One perk of registering with the embassy before moving, I guess. At least I assume that is why they have my email address on file.) They had some security restrictions. The worst was no large objects including umbrellas. So… your outdoor party during rainy season in the middle of an expansive neighborhood… has No Umbrellas Allowed? What? Luckily, it wasn’t raining when I woke up this morning.
The same day was our company’s badminton tournament in Noida. So I decided to give my taxi service some weekend business and headed down to Sector 21 on Saturday morning to play.
A Place to Play Sports and Stuff
From the Department of Redundancy Department
I don’t count the number of years it has been since I played badminton, I count decades. I played it a bit during “Raquet Sports” in high school and at the occasional backyard barbecue, but have never learned how to properly play.
Though that is not the case for the people here. When I arrived (after I wandered the complex, got barked at by a scary dog when I trespassed on what was apparently the dogs’ lawn, and finally found someone I knew, since I never would have found the door on my own) I was talking to one of my co-workers and he told me that badminton and table tennis were hugely popular here. I had no idea. Speaking of which, that is what Kathryn, my new co-worker from the States, calls “Noida”: “No idea.” Can’t believe I’ve never thought of that. Anyway, there was a whole giant court with four permanent badminton courts on it, so they must take this seriously here.
The gameplay did not take too long to pick up, actually. The switching sides when serving confused me a bit, but they had someone from the office reffing each game and explaining the details. At first, I was completely inept, missing completely or hitting the birdie against the stem. Then I got the hang of it, hitting it fairly regularly and managed a few good volleys (rallys?) during my first game. Everything following that, however, could be defined as Fail, horrible Fail. The only game I won was mostly because it was mixed doubles where I took the front, he took the back, and therefore I let him take most of the shots. I still had a lot of fun despite that the humidity that was so intense, even the locals commented on it.
It was a good, sweaty workout, that was for sure. And I loved how organized everything turned out to be. I’m very impressed that a committee at work manged to put together all the brackets, reserve the space, figure out who was playing when, and get the couple dozen of us a small lunch – a stuffed pastry and juice box – from the one concession area all in their spare time. And they wore matching shirts to boot.
Luckily, I managed to find someone to lend me their racquet for each of my games – everyone brought their own of course, because who doesn’t own a badminton racquet? I actually tried to purchase a racquet at Shipra Mall the previous night. Nope. Nada. So I bought The Worst Jeans ever instead and found out at the register that I did something I have never done before in my entire life: I lost my debit card. Luckily, I had a very clear memory of using it two days ago at the ATM in the basement of the office. Out of all the places to leave it, apparently that was a good choice because my card had not been used since then. I suddenly love that my bank sends me a text message every time my card is debited. After the most roundabout “Press 1 if” loop ever including one that, no joke, said, “Press 3 3 to report a lost or stolen card” and I had to just keep pressing that 3 until the next recording or it wouldn’t take, I managed to cancel the card. Now I have to wait until banking hours (i.e. Saturday) to get a new debit card. Bleh.
And because I know you are curious: The are the Worst Jeans Ever because they FALL DOWN. I know many people have pants that slide down their body as they walk. It’s a common problem, right? I mean, why else would someone invent the “belt”. But me, with ginormous round hips and thighs have never had this problem. Never in my entire life, no matter what style jeans. Until now.
So I went to pick up Kathryn (yay, a new American buddy just in time for July 4th) and we walked together to the metro station, about ten minutes in the heat and humidity. Seconds, SECONDS, after we entered the metro station it started pouring!
Whew. We were nervous about how wet it would be on the other side, though. With no umbrellas (sigh) we watched from the windows as the rain poured down on everyone, down all over the visitors to Akshardham, the people entering at each stop more and more soaked. We switched to the Yellow Line at Rajiv Chowk, this part all underground. At Race Course Station, we asked the man at the exit which gate was the closest to the U.S. Embassy. He said, “This one, but it’s raining outside.”
Tentatively, we went up the escalator. If it had been that bad, we figured, there would be more people in the covered part here, right?
Right! The rain had turned into a drizzle by the time we exited and found an auto to take us the rest of the way. Best Timing Ever.
The Program
I told my co-workers during the week that I was coming to this party tonight. The asked me if they have parades on July 4 in the U.S. And… I had no idea. Do they? (Hangs head in shame.) They said that India has both Republic Day, honoring the constitution (when they have a super big parade right through the middle of Delhi) and Independence Day, coming up in August. They said they hadn’t quite sorted out what to do on Independence Day. After all, it has only been sixty or so years from their independence from Britain (whereas as Americans have had 230 years to figure out something.)
Stepping into the Surreal
Our passports were checked, we were stamped, and we went through security that, compared to all the security I’ve already gotten used to in Delhi just to get into the metro station or the mall, did not seem so terrible. They started a little late and I learned later that the sudden rainstorm had completely ruined their preparing. But they did a great job setting everything back up. I couldn’t tell there had been a horrible storm just a half hour ago.
The party actually took place in a baseball field (!) You can see it right there on Google Maps. Again surreal. They had one smallish indoor area that I was happy to see just in case that rain came back. There they also had what was, according to Kathryn, the Nicest Public Toilets ever. Good to know for, you know, next time I visit? At the party, which had a pretty good amount of folks, but not nearly as many as I was expecting, I also ran into the one other American I know in Delhi, Megan, who I met at the Women’s Group (the Barbeque Nation entry.) Cool coincidence!
I’m standing in a baseball field, surrounded by American Flags, American accents, and people in shorts. In the middle of Delhi.
Overall, I liked the party. They kept the speeches and ceremony aspects short and sweet. Some marines marched to the stage with flags and rifles that were not fired. Then someone sung the national anthem. Then it was back to the nostalgic cover band playing Country Road, Sweet Home Alabama, and, for some reason, YMCA. They buffet was full of All-American food like burgers, fries, hot dogs, nachos, potato salad, quesadillas, fried chicken, corn on the cob, and believe it or not, a “Philly Cheese Steak”.
Be an Arrogant Bastard for only $10
The one disappointment was cost.
It cost $6 just to get in. The cheapest beer was $2 and went up from there, though it was pretty cool that they had Dogfish Head 90 Minute. (Apparently, getting this specialty beer in was not easy.) I had a $4 glass, er cup, of a wine called ONA which, despite looking like grape juice, was quite good. But you did not buy the food and drink directly, you bought coupons. Except the coupons only came in booklets of 200 rupees ($4). I asked the man at the coupon counter how much the buffet dinner was and he looked at me, confused, and said he wasn’t sure. How does the guy at the food and drink coupon counter not know how much the buffet dinner is?? Then he pointed to the paper inside my program which I now realized was a menu. With prices. With every single item charged separately. (And none were in increments of 200 rupees. The cheese steak was 280, the chicken was 220, the apple pie was 80. Seriously?) I know it is “special food” but seriously? I’ve never paid for a buffet dinner at a party in India ever, let alone be charged separately for each item. Incidentally, I declined braving the beef.
An American Indian?
The best part: fireworks! It was a short show, but yay! Fireworks are pretty commonplace here. Every other wedding has them – I often see fireworks out my window, but I still enjoyed them.
There was a raffle drawing after that, full of a bunch of useless prizes. A trip to Jaipur, where I’ve already been and probably will go back to, a trip to Agra, where I’m planning to go to later, or a trip to America, which I wouldn’t be able to take for tax reasons. Whew, didn’t win though I was nervous for a second because the person who won was also named Melissa. Wish they would have had free food instead. After that, they had a DJ who played a techno remix of Somebody That I Used To Know, some other new songs that I did not know, but one song that I also hear at Indian parties: Gangnam Style! Kathryn pulled me up to do the Cupid Shuffle. Then my regular taxi driver came and picked us up.
Now I have to go dig out my American debit card to pay for all these extraneous taxi rides…